My Gratitude Is Not Your ATM
The last thing Ayla Quincy felt was the cold, smooth surface of her desk against her cheek.
Her heart, a frantic drum machine just moments before, gave one last, exhausted thud.
Silence.
The lines of code on her monitor blurred into a meaningless river of green and black.
*It was all for them,* the final, ragged thought echoed in the collapsing space of her mind.
*And it wasn't enough.*
Then, nothing.
A gasp tore through her throat, raw and desperate.
Ayla’s eyes flew open.
Sunlight, warm and golden, streamed through a window she hadn't seen in a decade.
It smelled of freshly cut grass and teenage angst.
Her own bedroom.
Her childhood bedroom.
Her hand, not the calloused, keyboard-worn hand of a 32-year-old software engineer, but the smooth, unburdened hand of a teenager, was clenched around a piece of paper.
A FAFSA form. The Free Application for Federal Student Aid.
A relic from a lifetime ago.
Or, a lifetime to come.
§01
"Ayla, are you listening to me?"
The voice, laced with the familiar, weary impatience of her mother, Sharon, cut through the fog of her disorientation.
Ayla looked up from the FAFSA form.
Her mother stood in the doorway, her face etched with the same lines of perpetual worry Ayla remembered so vividly.
"You need your father to sign the guarantor section for the student loan. Don't dawdle. He’s tired after work."
The student loan.
That was the first link in the chain.
The chain that had dragged her down for a lifetime.
In her first life, she had obediently taken the form to her father, Gary. He had signed it, grumbling about the burden.
And her older brother, Spencer, had swooped in like a hero.
"Don't let Dad take on that stress at his age," he'd said, his voice dripping with faux nobility. "It's not right. I'll support you through college."
She had cried with gratitude.
She had believed he was the best brother in the world.
She had vowed to work hard, to get scholarships, to pay him back as soon as possible.
A hollow laugh almost escaped her lips.
The "support" had been a loan of forty thousand dollars over four years.
The "repayment" had been a lifetime of indentured servitude.
Hundreds of thousands drained from her salary to fund his family's lifestyle—his wife Kendra's designer bags, their son Dylan's private preschool, their cars, their house.
Every time she hesitated, Kendra's voice would slice through her guilt: "Ungrateful. Without Spencer, you'd be stocking shelves at Walmart. Every penny you earn is because of his kindness."
Now, looking at her mother, Ayla felt a chilling clarity.
"He shouldn't have to worry about this," Ayla said, her voice steady.
Sharon's face relaxed into a relieved smile. "Exactly. Your brother is so considerate..."
"You're right," Ayla interrupted, standing up and tearing the loan application neatly in half.
Then she tore it again.
Sharon’s smile froze. "Ayla! What are you doing?"
"I’m not making Dad sign anything," Ayla announced, dropping the confetti of her past life into the trash can. "I've decided to apply for a campus-based loan. No guarantor needed. You don't have to worry about a thing."
§02
There are two main types of student loans.
Source-of-origin loans, which require a parental guarantor.
And campus-based loans, which do not.
In her past life, blinded by the illusion of familial love, she had willingly walked into their trap.
She had accepted Spencer's "generosity," never realizing it was just the down payment on her soul.
Every request for tuition or living expenses had been a humiliating ordeal, subject to Kendra’s moods and Spencer’s lectures on gratitude.
The debt they created wasn't financial. It was emotional, a lifelong mortgage on her conscience.
Spencer cornered her later that evening. "Ayla, what's this I hear about a campus loan? What will people think? That your father and I can't even support our own family?"
The real reason surfaced.
It wasn't just about control. It was about appearances. The benevolent brother, sacrificing to put his little sister through college.
It was a performance for the world, and she was the main prop.
"I know you mean well, Spencer," Ayla said, her tone perfectly sweet, maddeningly reasonable. "That's why I can't possibly burden you. But don't worry. I'll make sure to tell everyone—all our relatives, all our friends—what a wonderful, supportive brother I have. Your generosity is the thought that counts."
She packed her bags and left for Northgate State University the next day.
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