When my best friend Kyle begged for help, I gave him the $6,400 I’d scraped together to escape my rundown basement apartment. He said he’d pay me back in three months. I believed him.
We’d been friends since college—brothers, even. But once he got the money, he ghosted me. Weeks turned into months.
My texts went unread. Calls went to voicemail. Meanwhile, he posted vacation photos, lobster dinners, and new rims online like he’d won the lottery.
Seven months passed, and I gave up hope. Then, out of nowhere, I got a bank notification: Incoming Wire Transfer: $10,100.00. It was from Kyle.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Seconds later, Kyle messaged me in a panic—he’d sent the money by mistake and wanted it back immediately. For a moment, I considered keeping it all.
But I’m not like him. I kept the $6,400 he owed me—plus a bit of interest—and sent the rest back. Then I blocked him.
He tried to call from other numbers. I blocked those, too. Later, a mutual friend told me Kyle had been lying, saying I gave him the money as a gift.
But no one bought it. He’d burned bridges all around. That money helped me move out, put down a deposit on a new apartment, and breathe again.
Kyle called one last time. I answered long enough to tell him we were done. Karma might take her time, but when she arrives, she doesn’t knock—she kicks down the door.
And sometimes? She hits send on the perfect wire transfer.
