My neighbor showed up at my door one night with red eyes, shaking hands, and a desperate plea for $200. She said her little boy needed medicine and she didn’t have enough to cover it. I wasn’t doing well myself—most nights I was choosing between which bill to pay late and which dinner I could make for under five dollars.
But something in her voice broke me.
So I gave her the money.
She promised she’d pay me back soon.
Weeks passed. Then months.
Nothing. No knock, no message… nothing.
Then tonight, I heard music through the walls. Laughter. Kids running around. The unmistakable noise of a party.
I sat on my couch—worn, sinking, familiar—and something bitter rose in my chest.
So she could throw a party…
…but couldn’t pay me back?
I went next door, ready to say everything I’d been holding in.
But when she opened the door, everything inside me stopped cold.
The party wasn’t for fun.
It was a celebration.
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