When I turned 69, I finally received a sum Id been waiting for, for years. My own hard-earned money. Money Id worked for and saved. The sort anyone would guard as closely as their own eyes. And, of course, I had plansfixing the roof, putting some away for a rainy day, even treating myself to a little happiness after a lifetime of work.
But as soon as my family caught wind of my good fortune, my nephew showed up at my doorcharming as ever, full of smiles and sweet talk. He spoke of a sure-fire business, a golden opportunity, some brilliant venture that only needed a bit of help to really take off. He painted such a convincing picture, spoke with such certainty, that I believed him.
I still remember how he promised hed pay it all backplus interestin just six months. It was steady, quick, and safe, he said. Unlike others whod let people down. Thinking I was helping him while giving myself a chance to gain something too, I handed over the money. No paperwork. No signatures. Just his word.
I told myself, Hes my nephew, he would never betray me.
Even at my age, I still believed family had integrity.
How naive I was.
Six months went bynothing. He said he needed just a bit more patience because everything was going well. By the eighth month, he no longer answered my calls. By the tenth, I heard from others that he was spending like there was no tomorrowas if he owed nothing to anyone.
When I confronted him again, he took offence. He snapped back, accusing me of not trusting him, of putting pressure on him, and of making him look bad to the rest of the family. Thats when it clicked that something was wrong though a part of me still hoped hed come to his senses.
But the worst didnt come from him, but from the restmy own brothers.
They took his side. They told me:
Stop bothering him.
Youll get your money back.
Hes doing his best.
Then came the little digssaying I was being stingy, that what do you need that much for at your age, that I was being unreasonable clinging to some sum. Eventually, they just shut me out altogether.
Almost seventy years old, and I was treated like a criminal, simply for asking back what belonged to me.
One day, I finally confronted him, head-on, no skirting around it. He grew angry. Told me I was hounding him. Threatened that if I kept asking, hed never set foot in my house again. As if that alone should break me.
I looked at him and remembered it all:
How Id always welcomed him.
How Id trusted him.
How Id stood up for him when others called him irresponsible.
And yetwithout a hint of shamehe has the gall to be offended that I want what is rightfully mine.
Its been three years now.
Three.
Some tell me to let it gothat at my age, I should find peace and move on. Others insist I shouldnt; that if you stay silent, people will only take further advantage.
Im stuck somewhere in between.
No contract. No written proof.
Just his wordwhich he broke without a second thought.
Every time I ask for whats mine, the family gets upset. They look at me as if Im the villainas if Im the problem.
But the truth is painfully simple:
Ive never asked for anything that wasnt mine.
I only want what I deserve.
In the end, the lesson is this: trust should be valued above alland if you ever lend family money, make sure the proof of it is worth as much as the promise. At the end of the day, integrity is not guaranteed by blood, but by the choices we make.
