Still, Brenda never spoke about the money.

She continued to buy expensive coffee and talk about their weekend trips.

The silence between us about the loan began to feel like a heavy wall.

That Monday morning, I went to the local barber shop on Michigan Street to drop off flyers for a church charity drive.

The barber, Tommy, had cut Richard’s hair for 15 years and was a notorious gossip.

Tommy poured himself a cup of coffee and casually mentioned how great Richard was looking.

He laughed and said the hair transplant Richard had last winter had done wonders for his confidence.

He even added that Richard told him they had saved up 5,000 dollars cash to pay for the cosmetic procedure.

I froze.

“Hair transplant?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

My stomach dropped, and my hands started to shake.

I felt sick.

The 5,000 dollars I had lent Brenda for a life-saving heart surgery was actually used to buy Richard cosmetic hair plugs.

And Brenda had bought herself a 2,000 dollar luxury handbag.

There was no medical emergency.

There was no insurance battle.

It was all a lie to fund their vanity.

I went back to my car, my mind racing.

I couldn’t draw a breath.

I drove straight to the bakery where Brenda had asked me to meet her for tea.

I sat across from her, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I waited for her to order, and then I finally asked her about the 5,000 dollars.

That was when she looked at me, completely unbothered, and said she thought it was a gift.

She claimed that since I had savings and didn’t ask for it back, she assumed I was just helping them out.

“You said Richard needed urgent surgery, Brenda,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Well, it was a medical procedure,” Brenda said defensively, her face hardening. “He was losing his hair and it made him depressed. I don’t see why you’re being so petty about this.”