Page 14 of Lose You Twice

Not that I enjoy it, but we will get through it. The mornings in London when I could wake up closer to eight or nine before heading to my internship and doing online classes were much more my speed, but here we are.

She sighs. “Wren.”

“First rule of this term—don’t fact-check my emotional stability before nine a.m. There’s not a lot there, and it is already dangling by a thread.”

She links her arm through mine as we start walking. “Fine. I’ll wait until nine-oh-one.”

“Generous.”

We make it to Ethics and Social Responsibility with thirty seconds to spare. The room is half full, everyone doing that first-day thing where they pretend not to judge seating choices while absolutely judging seating choices.

Harlow and I take two seats near the middle.

The professor starts right on time and begins talking about obligation, harm, moral responsibility, and the difference between what is legally required and what people owe each other anyway.

So, a light and breezy start.

I try to take notes. I really do.

But my brain keeps snagging on phrases.

Responsibility beyond the self.

Invisible labor.

Systems of care.

I write them down and then stare at the words until they blur a little.

Harlow nudges my knee with hers under the desk.

I glance over.

She doesn’t say anything. Just raises her eyebrows.

I shake my head once.

Later. Maybe.

Probably not.

After Ethics, we grab coffee number two, because I believe in hydration when it comes in the form of caffeine. Then I survive my second class through a combination of note-taking, strategic nodding, and pretending I understand the syllabus well enough not to panic.

By the time I leave, my phone has fourteen notifications, three reminders, and one text from Mom saying her shift is slammed, but she loves me.

There’s also an email from the financial assistance office.

My stomach sinks before I even open it.

I read the first line.

Then I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk so abruptly that someone almost crashes into me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping aside.

I read it again.

There has been an adjustment to your aid package.