When my sister Lisa and her husband were on the verge of losing their home, I didn’t hesitate to help. I had just sold my flower shop and finally had some savings, so I lent them $25,000 to get back on their feet. They promised to repay me within a year, and I believed them because they were family.
But weeks turned into months, and months into years and all I got in return was silence. Whenever I asked, the excuses grew thinner, while their social media posts showed vacations, new clothes, and dinners at fancy restaurants. I finally confronted them during Thanksgiving, hoping for honesty.
Instead, I got denial and anger. They said there was no legal contract, that I was making things uncomfortable. I left their home that night with tears in my eyes, realizing that my kindness had been mistaken for weakness.
I stopped chasing repayment and decided to rebuild my peace instead. Slowly, I reopened my life — creating small floral workshops and rediscovering joy in helping others bloom. Years later, I learned through a friend that Lisa and her husband had fallen on hard times.
Financial troubles, debts, and public embarrassment had caught up to them. When Lisa called me asking for help again, I didn’t respond with anger — just calm honesty. I reminded her of the money she still owed me, but more importantly, of the lesson she’d forgotten: trust is fragile, and once broken, it takes more than words to mend.
