Six months. Eight. A year. Not a word about repayment. No conversation about budgeting. No small effort. Instead, my phone filled up with photos of weekend trips, new clothes, wine tastings, fancy dinners. Rick even bought a truck worth more than their mortgage. Lisa posted Disney photos with the caption, “Making Memories.”
Meanwhile, I was barely scraping by, rebuilding my apartment, running small workshops, rationing groceries, living with the constant pain of knowing that half my safety net was gone… and in the hands of people who didn’t seem to miss it.
At first, I waited because I was patient. Then because I was afraid of starting a fight. Ultimately, waiting made me feel like someone was taking advantage of me.
After a year, at Sunday dinner, I finally asked, keeping a calm tone of voice:
“So… how are things going financially?”
Lisa gave me a radiant smile. “Much better. Rick even got a bonus.”
Still nothing about the loan. Not even eye contact. That night, something hardened inside me. They weren’t forgetting. They weren’t fighting. They simply had no intention of repaying me.
Months later, after countless excuses, I confronted Rick on their patio after Thanksgiving. The air was cold and biting. My hands were shaking, but not from the temperature.
“It’s been two years,” I said. “What’s your repayment plan?”
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