Page 23 of Ruthless Court
“I just blew up his dream.”
“He’ll adjust.”
“He has already picked the building. He sends me business plans. He talks about my MBA like I enrolled.”
“You never agreed to any of that.”
“He never asked.”
Mom presses her lips together.
The dryer turns behind us, filling the room with a low mechanical hum.
“Basketball isn’t my life,” I say. “It’s his.”
The words leave a strange silence behind them.
They sound harsher out loud.
Truer too.
Mom reaches for my hand.
“What do you want?”
I picture the TikTok.
Palm trees. Blue sky. Students crossing a campus where no one knows whose daughter I am or which boys my father thinks are worth his time.
“I want to find out.”
She squeezes my fingers.
“Then we’ll figure out the money.”
“We can’t afford the difference.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t even know the number.”
“Show me.”
I open the aid estimate.
Mom reads every line. Her face tightens near the bottom, but she doesn’t hand the phone back.
“You could work.”
“I know.”
“You could tutor.”
“I know.”
“We can cut things here.”
“Dad wants to put everything into the gym.”
