I didn’t save for Phoebe’s college because anyone asked—I did it because she mattered. Quiet deposits over the years built a modest fund—never flashy, but heartfelt.
At 17, she’s sweet, smart, shy, a poetry-loving soul who never took anything for granted. We celebrated her prom together—my sister Audrey organized a shoot, praised her new dad Thomas stepping up. Then Phoebe thanked me publicly for “making tonight possible,” revealing Audrey lied.
That fund wasn’t for prom—it was her future. I discovered \$7,000 missing. Audrey confessed, saying she’d “rebuild it,” justified it was a special night. Family pressure mounted: Mom urged reconciliation. But I held firm—her future can’t be spent impulsively.
Phoebe returned home concerned. Learning the truth, she felt guilty. She applied for summer work to repay—even though it wasn’t her fault. I reassured her: I’ll replenish the fund—her mom no longer has access. Our bond strengthened, her future secure.
I can’t change Audrey, but I can protect Phoebe—and that feels like the truest support.