I screenshot the post and sent it directly to him.
[You have money for gold jewelry. Money for bottle service. But nothing for me?]
[This isn't right. I lent you that money because you were sobbing and desperate.]
This time, the reply came fast—and nastier.
[Sis, come on. Are you seriously stalking my feed now?]
[That chain is for appearances. I need it to close business deals. It's an investment.]
[Besides, you drive a Benz, live in a penthouse downtown, and pull in millions a year. Why are you sweating $50,000?]
[If I had even a tenth of your money, I'd have given you that amount just for fun. I wouldn't even ask for it back.]
When he'd come to me, he'd sworn the bride's family demanded $100,000 in bride price—non-negotiable. No money meant no wedding, and she'd threatened to end the pregnancy.
My uncle's family couldn't scrape together that much. After pooling everything they had, they were still $50,000 short.
My heart softened. Family helps family, I'd thought. I transferred the money without a second thought.
Now I saw it clearly: I was the farmer, and he was the snake.
[Jarvis, that's beside the point. My money doesn't grow on trees either.]