Against my better judgment, I agreed. They promised—promised—to repay me within a year, swearing it would be temporary and that I was saving them from collapse. That year turned into two.
Then three. Every time I gently asked about repayment, they gave me excuses that piled up like weight on my chest: unexpected bills, car repairs, medical issues, “bad timing,” always bad timing. I stayed patient longer than I should have because they were family, because I kept convincing myself that integrity still meant something to them. But one afternoon, after yet another ignored message, I finally confronted them directly.
