I had just given my friend Anna two thousand dollars for her credit card debt, and she hugged me like I was the best person on earth. Then she left. I went back to my thirtieth-floor apartment, sat on my expensive sofa, and looked at my phone. Nobody called.
Nobody wrote. I was alone again. That was my life. I woke up alone, ate breakfast alone, worked ten hours, came home, ate dinner alone, and went to bed alone.
I had a high salary and a beautiful apartment, but the walls didn’t talk to me and the furniture didn’t love me. I was thirty-two years old, and I had everything except the one thing I wanted: someone who needed me. I always bought the gifts. I always paid for dinner.
I always took out my wallet first. My mother warned me again and again, “Rati, you work so hard. You give it all away. Save some for yourself.
” I bought my brother a thousand-dollar phone, and he didn’t call afterward. I paid three thousand dollars for my sister’s wedding dress, and now she was too busy with her husband to see me. My colleague Mark borrowed five hundred dollars, and I knew he’d never pay it back. But I didn’t care about the money.
I cared about being useful. When I helped people, I felt important. When they left, I was nothing again. So I kept giving.
I couldn’t say no, because if I said no, they would think I was selfish. And I couldn’t stand that. Then I met Rory. I was sitting at my usual table in my favorite café one Saturday, watching people walk by.
He was at the corner table with an old laptop that had torn stickers on it. He typed fast, he looked worried, he looked tired. He wore old jeans and worn shoes, but his eyes were bright. He looked like a man with a dream.
When he dropped his pen and I picked it up, he smiled. He asked if he could sit down. All the tables were full, he said. I said yes, even though some were empty.
His name was Rory, and he was building an app that would help people find jobs. He wanted to change the world. He spoke with passion, with hope. He didn’t ask about my job or my money.
He just talked about his dream. When he said I had kind eyes and a special energy, I felt warm inside. Nobody had ever said that to me. They only said I was generous, I was helpful, I was kind.
But nobody ever talked about my energy. Nobody ever talked about me. He asked for my phone number. I gave it to him.
For the first time in my life, I felt like somebody saw me, not my wallet. We started dating. He took me to small restaurants and parks. We walked and talked about his plans.
One night, he held my hand and told me I was different from other women who only cared about money and cars. He said he didn’t need my money. He just needed my belief. “I believe in you, Rory,” I said.
I felt like I was helping a genius change the world. I wasn’t just a wallet anymore. I was a partner. I was investing in something beautiful.
I was finally not alone. But the small problems started quickly. First, his laptop broke. He said he couldn’t work without it.
The new one cost a thousand dollars, and I bought it. He hugged me and said, “Thank you, Rati. I love your generosity. ” I loved those words.
Two weeks later, his office rent was late. Another five hundred. I paid it. His phone broke.
I bought him a new one. His car needed repairs. I paid for those. His business partner needed money.
I gave it. Each time, Rory said the same thing: “I love your generosity. You have such a big heart. ” I wanted to be that woman.
I wanted to keep that image. So I kept giving. Then came the big meeting with investors. He needed three thousand dollars for a suit and presentation materials.
“This is my chance,” he said. “This is our future. ” I gave him the money. Then he needed working capital, ten thousand more.
I didn’t have it, but I had credit cards. I took out the money and handed it over. “I’ll pay you back when the investors give me money,” he promised. I believed him.
I loved him. I also used my connections. I was a middle manager in a logistics company, and I knew important people. I introduced Rory to my contacts.
I set up meetings. I helped him with his presentations. My boss warned me, “Be careful, Rati. ” I didn’t listen.
I believed in Rory. I stopped buying myself clothes. I stopped going to nice restaurants. I worked twelve hours a day to pay off my credit cards.
I was exhausted, but I kept going. This was for love. Rory was busy now, always in meetings, always on calls. “Sorry, Rati,” he’d say, “but this is for us.
” I waited. I worked. I gave him more money. My friend Anna said I looked sick.
I told her I was fine. I couldn’t stop. I had to prove my love. I had to prove my generosity.
Six months passed. I was broke and tired, but I still loved him. Then Anna called me with a strange urgency in her voice. “Rati, I saw Rory yesterday.
He was driving a very expensive car. He was with other people. They went to a club. ” I said it must have been for business.
Then my other friend Lisa called to say she had seen Rory at an expensive restaurant, paying a huge bill. I felt cold inside. He got that money from me. That night, I called him.
“Rory, my friends saw you. They saw you with a big car. They saw you at clubs, spending a lot of money. ” He was quiet.
Then he turned it on me. “Are you listening to your friends now? Do you believe them more than me? I thought you were different.
I thought you believed in dreams. But you’re just like everyone else. You only care about money. I loved your giving heart, your beautiful soul.
But now you’re cold. The world is making you cold. ” I started to cry. I apologized.
I told him I trusted him. I told him I still loved him. He said, “Then trust me. Stop listening to your friends.
” And I believed him. A week later, he said he needed five thousand more for capital. I took out another loan and gave it to him. One month later, I organized a dinner to help him.
I invited my boss and three of my company’s managers. I paid for everything. Rory wore the new suit I had bought him. He drank a lot of wine and told everyone about his vision.
The dinner went well. My boss said, “This sounds interesting. Send me your plan. ” Rory was thrilled.
He laughed loudly and drank more wine. Then he went to the bathroom. He left his phone on the table. A message came in.
I looked at the screen. The group chat was named “easy money. ”
“How is the ATM tonight? ” one message said.
“Is she paying for dinner again? ” Another person wrote, “You are a genius, man. ” And then I saw Rory’s reply: “Yes, she set up a whole dinner with her company. She’s trying so hard to help me.
It’s too easy. ”
I couldn’t breathe. I scrolled up. There were so many messages, all about me.
He had even sent a photo of me sleeping, captioned, “My bottomless source of funding. ” His friends laughed with laughing emojis. I kept reading. I found messages about two other women.
Sarah, who lived in another city, and Maya. He used the same words with them, called them his investor angels, told them the same story about his app. He shared tips with his friends on how to get money from us. One message said, “Just tell them they have a big heart.
Tell them they are special. They eat it up every time. ”
I put the phone down. Rory came back from the bathroom, smiling.
“That was a great dinner, Rati. Thank you. ” I smiled back. Inside, I was dead.
That night, I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I sat on my sofa in the dark and saw everything clearly. I wasn’t his girlfriend.
I was his ATM. And I wasn’t the only one. Sarah and Maya were the same to him, just money. The words “I love your generosity” meant nothing.
They were just tools. I stayed quiet. I made a plan. The next day, I found Sarah on social media.
I sent her a message. “My name is Rati. I’m Rory’s girlfriend. I need to talk to you.
” She replied fast. “I’m also his girlfriend. ” Then I found Maya. Her story was the same.
We compared notes. He had lied to all of us in the same way. We collected evidence, screenshots, receipts, dates, amounts. I went to a lawyer, who told me, “This is fraud.
You can report him. ”
Two weeks later, I called Rory. “I want to meet you at your office. ” He said, “Sure, come tomorrow.
” I went. It was the office I had paid for, with the desk and chair I had paid for. Rory sat at his desk, smiling. “Hi, Rati.
What’s wrong? You look serious. ” I put the file on his desk. “Open it.
” He opened it. His face turned white. “I know everything, Rory. I know about Sarah.
I know about Maya. I know about your lies. ” He stood up, pleading. “Rati, please.
I love you. I love your kindness. You have such a big heart. Don’t let this change you.
” I looked at him and said, “You loved my giving. But you forgot something. I’m a manager. I know how to cut losses.
” I told him Sarah and Maya were waiting outside, and we had all gone to the police. “They’re coming. ” He begged. I said, “Yes, I can.
” And I did. Twenty minutes later, the police came and took Rory away. Sarah, Maya, and I stood together and watched him leave. We were free.
The story went online the next week. His reputation was destroyed. Nobody wanted to work with him. I lost a lot of money.
I couldn’t pay my rent, so I moved to a smaller apartment on the fifth floor. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine. I still worked at my company, but I changed. I stopped paying for dinners.
I stopped giving money. When people asked for help, I said, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. ” Some people said I had changed, that I wasn’t kind anymore.
I didn’t care. I knew the truth. My kindness had been used. My generosity had been a tool.
Now, when someone calls me kind, I feel strange. I feel scared. I don’t like that word anymore. One day, I walked past a jewelry store and saw a small, simple necklace in the window.
It cost two hundred dollars, and I had money that month. I went inside and bought it. The woman asked, “Is this a gift? ” I said, “No, it’s for me.
” I went home, stood in front of my mirror, and put on the necklace. For the first time in my life, I kept something for myself. It was mine. I smiled at my reflection.
“This is for me. ” Rory loved the giving part of me. But I finally learned to love the keeping part of myself.
