She's All I Need- Excerpt​

Chapter One

 

Iris

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Today might be the worst day of my life.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my stomach sinking as I lower myself into the chair in the registrar’s office. “What did you say?”
The registrar, a stout woman in her late fifties with glasses perched on the end of her sharp nose, sighs with impatience. “I said you were academically dismissed due to probation violations.”

Probation violations.

A combine harvester churns in my gut. It’s so loud, I can’t think. 

“What…” I try to swallow the sudden dryness in my throat. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Miss Prescott, that you’re no longer a student at Columbia University.”

I stare at her, blinking rapidly as the words sink in. When I showed up on campus this morning and anxiously checked my schedule for the room number of my first class, the last thing I expected was to find my schedule blank. Even in the fifteen minutes I had to wait outside the registrar’s office, I hadn’t let myself consider this possibility. I’d assumed it was a mistake. An oversight. A glitch in the system.
Apparently not.

“B-but…” I splutter, disbelief making my voice shake. This can’t be happening. “How? Why?”

She levels me with a withering look. “You failed the fall semester. We have high standards for our students, and can’t allow you to continue with a GPA of 1.8.”

Her words are a punch to the gut.

Failed? GPA of 1.8? God, I knew things were bad, but not that bad.

The truth is, I’d been too afraid to even look at my grades at the end of last year. Too relieved to be done with the semester. I didn’t want to ruin the holidays with what I knew would be mediocre grades, so I just… didn’t think about it. Convinced myself, somehow, that everything would be fine. Like it usually is.

So how the hell did this happen?

Indignation rises hot inside me. “You can’t do that! You can’t kick me out with no warning!”

The woman’s eyes narrow. “We gave you plenty of warning.” She turns to shuffle papers on her desk, signaling she’s lost interest in the conversation. “Perhaps it would have been wise to turn up to the probation meeting we requested you attend.”

“I…” The words lodge in my throat as my thoughts crowd in too quickly to grasp. Probation meeting? What is she talking about?

“We sent you multiple emails, Miss Prescott.”

A cold trickle of dread washes over me, and I pull out my phone. Admittedly, there were a few emails I’d been meaning to get around to reading, but sometimes I have this habit of letting them build up in my inbox, promising myself I’ll get to them later, and kind of… forgetting. I never mean to, but when life gets too overwhelming, my inbox is usually the first thing I let slide.

My heart thunders as I frantically scroll through the hundreds of unopened emails, sweat prickling along my brow. There are too many now, and the weight of them presses against me, making my scalp tighten. It would be easier to delete them and start over, but I force myself to push ahead, spotting one from school sent a few days ago:

FINAL NOTICE: You Have Been Dropped from Spring Courses

Shit. Fuck. Shit and fuck.

My pulse ricochets through me as I scroll further back, finding another:

ACTION REQUIRED: Academic Probation Meeting Required to Maintain Enrollment

And before that:

IMPORTANT: Your Academic Standing – Probation Notice

She’s right. They’re all there. How did I manage to ignore this for so long?

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do.” The registrar motions to the door, and panic zips through me.

“There must be something,” I plead, looking up from my phone. “I can improve my grades, or—”

“Yes, that would have been possible if you’d engaged in the probation process, Miss Prescott, but you chose not to, and it’s no longer an option.”

“But—”

“The best course of action at this point,” she continues coolly, “would be to enroll in a community college to improve your grades, then reapply next year.”

Community college?

I almost laugh at the suggestion. No way would my father allow that.

Oh, God. My father. He’s going to kill me. My stomach hollows at the realization.

She continues to speak, but I can’t hear the words. Static fills my head as I try to process what’s happening. I couldn’t keep up with the workload, couldn’t stay on top of things like everyone else seems to manage so effortlessly, and it’s finally caught up with me.
I’ve flunked out of college.

I’m a failure.

Humiliated tears press at my eyes, and I try to blink them away. The registrar motions to her office door again, indicating the conversation is over, and I rise from the chair in a daze, limbs struggling to cooperate. There’s a line outside her office, and I push past a few people, but don’t register their reactions. I can’t do anything other than stumble out of the building into the icy January air, numb with shock.

How could I have let this happen?

I tremble as I lean against the brick wall of the school I’ve attended for the past two and a half years. The school my father fought to get me into, using his connections to secure a place for me, despite my protests. Did I want to follow in Dad’s footsteps as an architect? I don’t know. I’ve never known. But when I got fired from yet another menial job and Dad jumped down my throat, it seemed easier to agree to college to get him off my back, especially when he insisted on covering my tuition. 

Of course, that didn’t get him off my back at all. If anything, it only made him more involved in my life.

 Starting college at twenty-three wasn’t great, but even worse was the way it felt like every class was a struggle. I couldn’t get my head around things like the switch from AutoCAD to Revit, couldn’t get my brain to retain the dry, bureaucratic rules about zoning laws, and don’t even get me started on the math. Who knew there was so much math involved? Honestly. Kill me now.

My favorite part of the course was when I could be creative, but even then I managed to fuck up, like when I had to make the model for my renewable design project and spent so long perfecting it that I missed the deadline. I just wanted it to be as good as it looked in my head, but it never turned out right.

Nothing ever does, for me.

A fact of which my father will be all too happy to remind me when he learns I’ve ruined yet another thing in my life. That I’m once again back to square one, with no solid plans for my future.

Tears threaten again, but I force myself to take a few deep breaths. The frigid winter air fills my lungs, bringing me back into my body, and I shove thoughts of my father from my mind as I try to get my head on straight.

Underneath my fears about Dad, under the sting of humiliation at having failed again, there’s another feeling. One I’m not used to.

Relief.

And if I let myself be really honest, I can acknowledge how much the past few years have worn me down. How I can’t imagine going back there after this reprieve, even if they allowed it. I hadn’t realized how burned out I’d felt, but having that weight lifted from me is enough for my body to release the tension it’s held for so long.

Finally. It’s over.

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket, and I pull it out to see Dad’s name on the screen. I stiffen, any relief I felt vanishing, and I reject the call, shoving my phone away. I can’t deal with him now.

But as I head wearily out through the campus gates, my boots wet from the slush of last night’s snowfall, my phone buzzes again with another call, then another, then with a text. With unsteady hands, I pull it out to see a message from Dad.

Dad: Answer your damn phone, Iris.

Shit.

Does he know already? Is that possible?

No, I tell myself. Of course he doesn’t know.

With my heart in my throat, I push the button to call him back. I really don’t want to face him right now, not while I’m still processing what’s happened and how I feel about it, but it’ll be worse if I don’t answer. He’ll get suspicious.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, forcing an overly bright tone. “How are you?”

“Iris,” he barks, ignoring me, “what’s this about you being dismissed by the school?”

Fuck.

He knows then.

My pulse scatters, and I sink onto a bench, ignoring the damp feeling through my coat.

“What?” I squeak.

“I received an email from the registrar’s office informing me that they’ve dismissed you due to your academic standing. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“They emailed you?” I ask in shock.

“Of course they did. I pay your tuition.”

I press my eyes shut as my blood turns to ice in my veins. I knew it was a bad idea to let him pay for college, even if I’d never have been able to afford it myself. A loan would have been better. My parents might be wealthy, but I’ve always done my best to stand on my own two feet, to live a life I can be proud of. And if not proud, well, at least I know it’s mine. It’s my series of fuck-ups.

But I was at a pretty low point after losing my last job. Vulnerable enough to let Dad push me around. Like he always does.

“I can’t talk about this now,” I mumble, exhaustion tugging at me. All I want is a dozen of my favorite cupcakes, a gin and tonic, and bed.

“Oh yes you will,” he growls. I hear the scrape of his office chair on the wooden floor as he rises angrily from his desk. “You need to take some responsibility. How could you let this happen, Iris?”

I shiver, and it’s got nothing to do with the sub-zero temperatures. “I tried, Dad. Really, I did.” It’s the God-honest truth. I worked my fucking ass off, but it was never good enough. I can’t keep up with everyone else, no matter what I do.

“You didn’t try hard enough,” he counters. He takes a deep breath, as if attempting to calm himself down. “Now, you need to go back and demand an appeal.”

I blink. “I can do that?” That wasn’t one of the options the registrar gave me.

“Of course you damn well can. I’ll call the school myself, and…”

My mind drifts as he continues, thinking of the relief I felt a few moments ago when I knew I wouldn’t have to go back. When I knew I wouldn’t have to ever again feel the gut-churning anxiety that consumed me every time I showed up for class. It’s only now, as I’m forced to take a step back and face it, that I realize how long I’ve ignored this feeling.

“I can’t,” I blurt. “I can’t go back in there.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. I cast my gaze along 116th Street, watching a group of students talking and laughing as they head onto campus. What must it be like to be that carefree?

Finally, Dad speaks, his voice low with anger. “You’re not dropping out, Iris.”

“Maybe I can take a break,” I say feebly, attempting to placate him. “I could reapply next year, or the year after…”

“That’s not an option. You’re going to see something through, for once.”

I know what I should say. What he wants me to say. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

“No,” I whisper, dashing a tear from my cheek. Thank God he can’t see me.

There’s silence for a beat. Then, “No?”

“I don’t…” I swallow. I’m twenty-six, for God’s sake, but he makes me feel like a child. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.” 

Whoops. I didn’t mean for that to slip out. I half expect him to end the call and phone the school anyway, to drag me back in there, kicking and screaming.

Instead, he says in a voice that’s far too calm, “Fine.”

I suck in a breath and hold it. Fine? He can’t mean that, surely. My father always gets his way, and he makes sure everyone around him knows it. To hear him simply reply with fine makes dread well up inside me.

“Then you will come and work for me.”

And there it is.

“What?” I say.

“If you’re not going to use the education I paid for, then you’ll need to repay me, Iris.”

“Of course I’ll repay you,” I mutter. That had always been my plan. “But—”

“You’ll do it at the firm, where I can keep an eye on you. Where I can teach you the value of hard work.”

An angry grumble sticks in my throat. I did work hard, harder than half the people in my class, it seemed. And for what?

“I’ll take a portion of your paycheck until you’ve repaid your debt,” Dad adds.

My jaw tightens. Of course he will.

“What would I even do?” I protest. He can’t be serious. Dad’s company is one of the top architecture firms in the city, and I don’t see how a college dropout like me will do anything other than get in the way.

Unless he’s hiring me as a janitor. That’s a very real possibility.

“We need a new assistant for one of the senior architects. Let’s see if you can handle it.”

Okay, so he is serious.

I scowl bitterly. It shouldn’t surprise me. It’s not only an attempt to control me, he’s trying to punish me for letting him down. For never being the daughter he wanted me to be.

“I don’t—”

“I’ll give you a choice,” Dad interjects. “You can either go back in there and ask for an appeal, or you can come work for me. It’s up to you.”

I’m silent as I contemplate my options. I’d been so relieved to get out of school, but will working for my father be any better? No doubt I’ll make a mess of things there, too, and he’ll have even more ammunition against me. On the plus side, I guess, the harder I fail, the more likely he’ll be to get rid of me. Then I’ll be free to go back to my own life. Whatever that might look like.

Besides, what choice do I have? It’s not like I have any work lined up. College was supposed to be my do-over, and look how that turned out. I’ve been cobbling together temp jobs on the side to cover my meager rent and living costs, and the last job I had working the skating rink snack stand at Rockefeller Center ended after New Year’s. I literally have no other plans.

And there’s zero point in calling my mom. She’ll just say what she always says: “You know how your father gets.” Her way of dismissing his demands. Of avoiding any conflict whatsoever.

And that’s when the last bit of fight drains from me. There’s no way I can win this.

“Fine,” I murmur, resigned tears pressing at my eyes again. “I’ll… I’ll take the job.”

“Be in the office at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow,” Dad says brusquely. And with that, he ends the call.

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​© 2026 Jen Morris​