One night my neighbor showed up at my door, eyes swollen, hands shaking, asking to borrow $200 for her son’s medicine. I barely had enough for myself, but I gave it anyway. She promised to repay me soon.
Weeks turned into months with no word. Then one evening I heard music and laughter from her apartment. A party—while she still owed me money. Frustrated, I went over to confront her.
But when she opened the door, my anger dissolved. The room was full of kids, balloons, and a lopsided cake that read, “WELCOME HOME, CALEB.” Her son, thin and recovering, had just returned from months of cancer treatment. The money had kept him going.
She admitted she hadn’t forgotten the debt—life had simply been crisis after crisis. Caleb hugged me and whispered thanks, and every bit of resentment disappeared.
Over time, she paid me back in small amounts. More importantly, we became friends. We shared responsibilities—meals, childcare, rides—and leaned on each other.
Eventually she told me her dream of starting a cleaning business and asked for help building a website. We named it Second Chance Cleaning. It grew quickly, giving work to other single moms in our building. One of her clients noticed my help and offered me part-time administrative work, finally giving me some financial relief of my own.
Nearly a year later, she won a $15,000 women-owned business grant. She handed me a $2,000 check and said, “This isn’t repayment. This is partnership.”
The shaky $200 I gave her came back a hundredfold—not just in money, but in community, trust, and the reminder that what looks like betrayal is often just someone fighting to survive.
