When Georgina lends her sister $20,000 to save a failing business, she expects honesty… but what she gets is betrayal. As loyalty unravels and silence deepens, Georgina decides it’s time to rewrite the rules of family and forgiveness.
Some lessons come with interest… but this one costs more than money. Two years ago, my younger sister, Anna, showed up at my door with tears in her eyes and panic in her voice.
Her boutique, her pride, her so-called dream, was falling apart. Rent was overdue, suppliers were pulling out, and she claimed she had exhausted every possible avenue. “Georgina,” she said, grabbing my hands like they were life vests.
“You’re the only person I can ask. I’ll pay you back. Every cent.
Please. Please just help me out.”
Look, I’m a single mother of two. I’m not wealthy.
What I have… I’ve scraped together through careful budgeting and working overtime hours whenever I can. But she’s my sister.
And in that moment, watching her unravel across my living room, helping her felt like the right thing to do. So I dug into my savings and transferred $20,000 to her. There was no written contract between us, just trust.
At first, Anna sent back small amounts. Maybe $300 one month, $500 the next. I didn’t mind.
I figured that she was working things out and doing her best to stay afloat. I even sent her encouraging messages when she was late. “No worries,” I wrote once.
“Just keep me posted, Sis.”
I wanted to believe she was trying. I wanted to believe that the sister I had trusted with $20,000 still respected what that trust meant. But then…
nothing. There were no payments. No updates.
Just silence. My texts went unanswered. My calls were ignored.
And she stopped showing up at family dinners. She even ducked out of group chats. It was as if she’d erased me from her life the moment the money left my account.
For a while, I made excuses for her. Maybe she was overwhelmed. Maybe she was embarrassed.
But deep down, a slow, sick feeling started to take root. The kind of feeling you try to push down because it feels too ugly to name. Then, one Sunday, at our cousin’s engagement party, I saw her across the room, laughing.
Anna was carefree, like the weight of her choices hadn’t touched her at all. I waited until she was alone near the dessert table. “Anna,” I said, keeping my voice level, my hands steady.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
