The air in the office was always thick with the smell of stale coffee and manufactured urgency, but this afternoon, it felt heavier. She approached my desk, her usually bright eyes shadowed, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her purse. I knew something was off.
“Hey,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. “Could I… could I ask you a huge favor?”I braced myself. People asking for favors at work rarely ended well. Usually, it was about covering a shift or swapping project deadlines. This felt different. This felt… deeper.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “What’s up?”“I need $300,” she blurted out, her voice trembling just enough to sound urgent. My eyebrows shot up. $300? That was a lot. For a coworker, even one I liked, it was a significant ask.
A smiling little boy in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney
She quickly added, “It’s for an emergency. My mom… she had an unexpected medical bill, and I won’t get paid until Friday. I’ll pay you back, I swear. First thing Friday.”
A medical emergency. That was the magic phrase, wasn’t it? It shut down all the usual questions. You didn’t ask for specifics when someone’s mom was sick. You just… reacted. I hesitated, my mind racing. I had it. It would sting a little, but I had it. And she looked truly distraught. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying.
“Okay,” I heard myself say. “Yeah, I can do that.”
The relief that washed over her face was immediate and profound. “OH MY GOD. THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She hugged me, a quick, awkward embrace that felt both grateful and slightly desperate. I transferred the money right then and there. I felt good about it. Like I was genuinely helping someone in need.
A woman standing at the entrance of a grocery store | Source: Midjourney
Friday came. She paid me back, exactly as promised. A small, neatly folded wad of cash. “Thank you again,” she said, her usual cheerfulness almost restored. “You really saved me.”
And for a while, everything was normal. Until it wasn’t.
About three weeks later, she came to my desk again. Same look, same fidgeting hands, only this time, her eyes held a new kind of terror.
“Hey,” she started, her voice barely audible. “I know this is a huge ask… and I hate doing this…”
My heart sank. Here we go again.
A smiling store manager | Source: Midjourney
This time it was $500. A “surprise car repair.” She swore she’d pay me back next payday. I hesitated longer this time. $500 was a bigger chunk. But her desperation was palpable. She looked genuinely terrified. What kind of car repair costs that much and can’t wait? I wondered, but didn’t ask. I told myself she just needed help. We all do sometimes.
I lent her the money. Again, paid back on time.
The requests started coming more frequently after that. Every couple of weeks. Sometimes $200, sometimes $400. Always an “emergency.” A “sudden vet bill,” “rent was short,” “unexpected utility cutoff notice.” Her stories started to fray at the edges. They were plausible, but the sheer volume of “emergencies” in her life was becoming alarming.
Is she okay? I worried. Is something seriously wrong?
A smiling little boy | Source: Midjourney
I wasn’t the only one she was asking. I overheard whispers in the breakroom, hushed conversations about her “always needing something.” Some people shrugged her off. Some gave her a few bucks here and there. But I was the one she always came to for the larger sums. I was her ATM, her emergency fund, her silent benefactor.
My own finances started to feel the pinch. I had to cut back on things, delay a small trip I was planning. I stopped going out for lunch. It’s temporary, I told myself. She’ll get back on her feet.
Her appearance started to change, too. Her clothes, once neatly pressed, became wrinkled. Her hair was often messy. She lost weight, her face looking gaunt and pale. The sparkle in her eyes was replaced by a haunted, perpetually anxious look. She jumped at sudden noises. She was always on edge.
“Are you sure she’s just having ’emergencies’?” my partner asked me one evening, after I’d mentioned having to transfer her another $350. “It sounds like something more serious. Gambling? Drugs?”
A little boy sleeping on a couch | Source: Midjourney
I got defensive. “No, she’s not like that! She’s just… going through a really rough patch. Her family… they rely on her.” I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe I was doing a good thing.
But his words had planted a seed of doubt. A dark, insidious little seed that started to sprout into an enormous, thorny bush in my mind.
One morning, she came to my desk, looking worse than ever. Her eyes were hollow, her cheeks sunken. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“I… I need a lot,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “This is… this is the biggest one yet. I wouldn’t ask unless it was absolutely vital. My life depends on it.”
“How much?” I asked, my voice flat. I already knew I was going to say no. I had to say no. I was drained, emotionally and financially.
“Two thousand,” she choked out. “Just… for a few days. I swear, I’ll pay you back. I have a bonus coming, a big one. I just need to bridge the gap.”
A woman sitting on a couch and using her phone | Source: Midjourney
Two thousand dollars. My jaw dropped. I stared at her, then at my computer screen, then back at her. Her face was contorted in a silent plea, tears welling in her eyes.
“I can’t,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I can’t afford that. I’ve already loaned you so much. I need some of it back, honestly.”
Her face crumbled. “Please,” she sobbed, not caring who might overhear. “PLEASE. I don’t know what I’m going to do. They’ll… they’ll hurt me. They’ll hurt someone.”
My blood ran cold. They? This wasn’t about bills. This was something else entirely. Fear, pure and unadulterated, pulsed from her like a tangible wave.
“Who are ‘they’?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t… I can’t tell you. Just please. Please help me this one last time.”
A wave of anger, cold and sharp, cut through my pity. I had given her so much, sacrificing my own peace of mind, my own savings. And she wouldn’t even tell me the truth.
A woman talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I said, more firmly this time. “I can’t. Not until you tell me what’s really going on.”
She looked at me, a desperate, wild animal trapped. Then she just turned and ran, disappearing into the office labyrinth.
I felt terrible, but also resolute. Enough was enough. I had to know. The next day, I started asking around, subtly. A casual question to a mutual friend, an observation about her being absent from meetings. No one knew anything concrete. Everyone just knew she was “struggling.”
That afternoon, I saw her leaving the office building early. Usually, she stayed late. This was my chance. I grabbed my bag, made an excuse to my boss, and followed her.
She moved quickly, darting through the crowded streets, constantly looking over her shoulder. Her anxiety was palpable even from a distance. She took a bus, then another, leading me to a part of town I rarely visited. It was a quieter, older neighborhood, full of brick houses and mature trees. She stopped outside a quaint coffee shop, pacing nervously on the sidewalk.
The interior of a cozy coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
A few minutes later, a car pulled up. A familiar car. My stomach lurched. My breath caught in my throat. NO. It couldn’t be.
The driver’s door opened, and a hand reached out. A hand I knew intimately.
My world tilted. The air left my lungs in a whoosh. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking I was hallucinating. When I opened them, he was out of the car, standing next to her. She quickly pulled a thick envelope from her purse, the kind that would hold a lot of cash, and pressed it into his hand.
He didn’t hug her. He didn’t smile warmly. His face was grim, almost menacing. He took the envelope, gave her a curt nod, and then, he did something that shattered my universe into a million pieces.
A smiling little boy sitting at a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
He leaned in, whispered something to her, his voice too low for me to hear. But the words must have been devastating because her already pale face went chalk-white, and she started to tremble violently. Then, he got back in his car and drove away, leaving her standing alone on the sidewalk, looking utterly broken.
IT WAS HIM. IT WAS ALWAYS HIM.
My mind raced, connecting every desperate plea, every trembling word, every dollar.
My money. All of it. The “emergencies.” The terror in her eyes. It wasn’t for her.
It was for him.
My partner.
He wasn’t just using her. He was using her to use me.
A smiling man standing in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
The horror of it. The betrayal. The sheer audacity. Every dollar, every worried night, every lie she’d told me, every ounce of pity I’d felt for her… it was all connected to him. What was he doing? Gambling? Another woman? A secret life so expensive that he had to siphon money from me through a desperate coworker?
I saw her collapse onto a nearby bench, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She was not just an accomplice; she was a victim too, trapped in whatever dark secret he was holding. And I, the trusting fool, had funded it all.
The pain was physical, a knife twisting in my gut. My head throbbed. I felt sick.
I wanted to run to her, demand answers, scream at her, comfort her. I wanted to confront him. But all I could do was stand there, frozen, hidden in the shadows, watching the woman who had helped my partner bleed me dry, knowing that my entire life had just been a lie.
Every single penny I’d “loaned” her, had gone straight to HIM.
He was stealing from me, using her as his pawn.
A smiling older woman sitting in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
And she knew. She knew the entire time. Her desperation, her fear, it wasn’t for her fake emergencies. It was for fear of him, and fear of me finding out.
My entire relationship was a sham. And I had helped pay for its upkeep.
My legs finally gave out. I sank to the ground, hidden behind a parked car, tears blurring my vision. The afternoon sun felt cold on my face. The world had just stopped making sense.
I had been so careful, so generous, so empathetic. And it had all been weaponized against me.
The woman on the bench was still crying. A stranger, a coworker, caught in the crossfire of my partner’s deceit. And me, the one who loved him, utterly, completely, devastatingly betrayed.
The $300 that started it all felt like a lifetime ago. A tiny crack in the foundation of my life, which had now crumbled into dust.
