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In the account settings, each device had a label: Mom, Dad, Dez, Alana’s tablet. Mine was the only one I actually needed. I checked the contract dates and weighed the penalty for shrinking the plan against another year of paying for four lines.
The fee for cutting them loose was smaller than the cost of continuing. I scheduled the change for the next billing cycle. Their phones would not shut off overnight, but the notice would go out.
My parents would have to speak to the lender themselves instead of letting my balance absorb their silence. The after-school program was simple. There was a portal with a switch for automatic billing.
I turned it off. The site warned that future charges would need to be paid manually to keep enrollment active. A red banner appeared across the top of the page and stayed there even after I logged out.
Health insurance would take more care. I could not drop my parents in the middle of a coverage period without giving them a chance to adjust. In my company portal, I read the rules for changing dependents.
There were windows for updates, penalties for midyear removals, options for them to continue coverage on their own. I saved the relevant pages and decided that piece would not move tonight. By the time I closed the note, I had a map of every connection between my accounts and my relatives’ comfort.
Some changes were already moving. Others waited for a call or a form. All of them were visible in a way they had never been before.
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