I picked up Rory’s phone from the table when a message notification lit up the screen. The group chat was named “Easy Money. ” I opened it, and the world tilted under my feet. One message read, “How is the ATM tonight?
” Another said, “Is she paying for dinner again? ”
And then I saw Rory’s reply: “Yes, she set up a whole dinner with her company. She is trying so hard to help me. It is too easy.
”
I could not breathe. But I kept reading. My name is Rati, and I lived my whole life alone in a big city. My apartment was on the 30th floor, full of expensive furniture and a big television, but nothing in it ever talked to me.
I worked ten hours a day as a middle manager at a global logistics company. I earned good money. I could buy anything I wanted. But I woke up alone, ate alone, and went to bed alone.
So I learned to buy love in the only way I knew how. I gave money to friends in debt. I bought gifts for my family. I paid for every dinner.
When my friend Anna cried about her credit card bills, I handed her two thousand dollars without thinking. When my brother wanted a new phone, I bought it for him. When my sister got married, I paid for her three-thousand-dollar wedding dress. My mother warned me: “Rati, you work so hard, but you give it all away.
Save some for yourself. ”
I smiled and told her I was happy to help. But the truth was, I was terrified. I believed that if I stopped giving, people would stop liking me.
They would leave me. So I kept paying, kept giving, kept buying. My colleagues came to me when they needed money, and I always said yes. I could not say no.
If I said no, they would think I was selfish. And then I would be alone again. Last Tuesday, my colleague Mark came to my desk with a worried face. He needed five hundred dollars.
I gave it to him that same day. He said I saved him. I knew he would never pay me back. But I did not care about the money.
I cared about being needed. When I helped people, I felt important. I felt like I had value. But when they left, I felt empty again.
I sat in my big apartment and looked down at the glowing city, thousands of lights, so many people, and I was still alone. Then, one Saturday, I went to my favorite small cafe. I ordered my coffee and took my usual table by the window. That is when I saw him.
He sat alone at a corner table with an old laptop covered in torn stickers. He was not like the other men in that cafe, who wore nice suits and checked their new phones. He wore old jeans, a simple shirt, and worn shoes. But his eyes were bright.
He typed fast and looked tired, but he looked like he cared about something. He looked like he had a dream. When he stood up to leave, he dropped his pen. I picked it up and called out to him.
He turned and smiled and said, “Thank you. ” Then he said, “Can I sit here for a minute? All the tables are full. ”
There were empty tables, but I said yes anyway.
His name was Rory. He told me he was building an app that would help people find jobs. He said it would change the world. His voice was strong, and his eyes were bright.
He spoke with passion and hope for two hours. He did not ask about my job. He did not ask about my money. When I left, he asked for my phone number.
He said, “You have kind eyes, Rati. You are different from other people. You have a special energy. ”
Nobody had ever said that to me.
People always said I was generous or helpful. Nobody ever talked about my energy. Nobody ever talked about my soul. Rory called the next day.
We met at the cafe again, and then again, and soon we were dating. He took me to small restaurants and parks. We walked and talked about his plans and his dreams. One night, sitting in the park, he said, “Rati, other women only care about money and clothes and cars.
But you care about real things. You care about people. You care about dreams. I am building something big.
I just need time and someone to believe in me. Money is not important. Faith is important. ”
I said, “I believe in you, Rory.
”
He held my hand and said, “I do not need your money, Rati. I just need you. I need your support. I need your belief.
”
For the first time in my life, I felt like my giving meant something real. I was not just a wallet. I was a partner. I was investing in something beautiful.
Finally, someone saw me. Really saw me. Three months passed. Then the small problems started.
Rory called me, sounding sad, and said his laptop broke. He could not work. He needed a new one. It cost a thousand dollars.
He insisted he could not ask me for money, but I wanted to help him. I bought him the laptop. He hugged me and said, “Thank you, Rati. You are amazing.
I love your generosity. ”
Those words made me feel good. Nobody had ever said that to me before. Two weeks later, his office rent was late.
I paid it. His phone broke. I bought him a new one. His car needed repairs.
I paid for them. His business partner needed money. I gave it to him. Every time, Rory said the same thing: “I love your generosity.
You have such a big heart. ”
I wanted to keep that image. I wanted to be the woman with the big heart. So I kept giving.
Then came the night he told me the news. Investors wanted to meet him. This was his big chance. He needed three thousand dollars for a new suit, materials, and the presentation.
I gave it to him. But that was not enough. The investors wanted to see working capital. They wanted to know he had money to run the business.
He needed ten thousand dollars, just for a few months. I did not have ten thousand in my bank account, but I had credit cards. I took out the money and gave it to him. “I will pay you back when the investors give me money,” he said.
“I will pay everything back. ”
I believed him. I loved him. This was an investment.
This was our future. I helped him in other ways, too. I worked in logistics and knew many people in big companies. I introduced Rory to my contacts.
I set up meetings for him. I helped him with his presentations. My boss warned me, “Rati, why are you helping this man so much? Be careful.
”
I did not listen. My life changed. I poured so much money into Rory that I had nothing left for myself. I stopped buying new clothes.
I stopped going to nice restaurants. I ate simple food at home. I stopped buying gifts for my family. My mother called, worried.
She said I looked tired. I told her I was fine, just busy. I was not fine. I worked twelve hours a day.
I needed more money for my credit cards and for Rory. I woke up tired, went to work tired, came home tired. But I kept going. This was for love.
This was for our future. Rory was always busy now, always in meetings or on calls. He would say, “Sorry, Rati. I am so busy.
But this is for us. Soon everything will be better. ” I believed him. I waited.
I worked. I gave him more money. My friend Anna called, worried. She said I looked sick and sad.
I told her I was fine, that I was just helping Rory with his business. Inside, I was empty. I had given everything and had nothing left. But I could not stop.
I had to prove my love. I had to prove my generosity. This was who I was. Six months passed.
I was tired and broke, but I still loved him. Then Anna called me one day, sounding worried. She had seen Rory driving a very expensive car with other people, and they went to a club. I told her it was probably for business.
But then my other friend Lisa called me too. She had seen Rory at a very expensive restaurant, paying a huge bill. That night, I called Rory. “My friends saw you,” I said.
“They saw you with a big car. They saw you at clubs. ”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Rati, are you listening to your friends now?
Do you believe them more than me? ”
“I just want to understand,” I said. “Where did you get the money? ”
His voice turned angry.
“I cannot believe this. Are you counting pennies now? Are you just like them? I thought you loved me.
I thought you believed in me. Do you know how hard I work? Do you know how stressed I am? Sometimes I need to relax.
Sometimes I need to network. That is how business works. ”
“But the car, the clubs,” I said. “That costs a lot of money.
”
“So you are counting now,” he said. “You are adding numbers. You are checking receipts. Is that what love is to you?
”
I felt so guilty. I apologized. Then he said something that cut me deeper than anything. “Rati, I loved your giving heart.
You had such a beautiful soul. But now you are cold. The world is making you cold. I thought you were different.
But maybe I was wrong. ”
I cried. I begged him to forgive me. I told him I trusted him.
After that call, I felt like I had done something wrong. Rory was right. I was counting pennies. I was becoming cold.
I needed to prove my love. I needed to prove I was not like other people. The next week, Rory said he needed five thousand more dollars. The investors needed to see more capital.
Then everything would be ready. I did not have five thousand, but I took out another loan and gave it to him. He smiled and said, “Thank you, Rati. This is why I love you.
You have such a big heart. ”
I felt better. I was not cold. I was still generous.
I was still loving. But I was so tired. I worked every day. I had no money.
I ate cheap food. I wore old clothes. I could not sleep. My friends stopped calling, worried about me.
They did not understand love. They did not understand sacrifice. One month later, I set up a big dinner. I invited my boss and important people from my company.
I wanted them to meet Rory, to hear his business plan, to help him succeed. I paid for everything. I wore my best dress. Rory wore the new suit I had bought him.
The dinner went well. My boss was interested. Rory was happy. He drank a lot of wine.
After two hours, he said he needed to go to the bathroom. He stood up, unsteady, and left his phone on the table. That is when the message came in. I read everything.
I scrolled up through months of messages, all about me. There was a photo of me sleeping that he had sent to his friends. Under it, he wrote, “My bottomless source of funding. ” His friends replied with laughing emojis.
They called him a master. I found more. Rory talked about two other women. One was named Sarah.
One was named Maya. He used the same words with them that he used with me. He told them the same story about his app. He called all of us his funding sources.
One of his messages read, “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, smiled at me, and said, “That was a great dinner, Rati. Thank you. ”
I smiled back. I talked to my boss.
But inside, I was dead. After dinner, he wanted to come to my apartment. I told him I was tired. He left.
I went home and sat on my sofa in the dark. I did not cry. I could not cry. I had given him everything: my money, my time, my connections, my love, my trust.
And I was not his girlfriend. I was not his partner. I was his ATM. I did not call him.
I did not tell him what I knew. I stayed quiet. And I made a plan. The next day, I found Sarah on social media.
I sent her a message: “My name is Rati. I am Rory’s girlfriend. I need to talk to you. ”
She replied fast: “I am also his girlfriend.
”
We talked. We shared our stories. They were identical. Then I found Maya.
Her story was the same. We were all his victims. We were all his ATMs. I said, “We need to stop him.
”
We collected evidence. We took screenshots of his messages. We saved receipts. We wrote down dates and amounts.
We made a file. I took it to a lawyer. He said, “This is fraud. You can report him.
”
I said, “I will. ”
Two weeks later, I called Rory and told him I wanted to meet at his office. The next day, I walked in. I had paid the rent on that office.
I had paid for the desk, the chair, everything in that room. Rory sat at his desk and smiled. “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 said, “I know everything. I know about Sarah. I know about Maya.
I know about your lies. ”
He looked up and said, “Rati, let me explain. ”
“No,” I said. “I am done listening.
”
He stood up. “Rati, please. I love you. I love your kindness.
You have such a big heart. Do not let this change you. ”
I looked at him and said, “You loved my giving. But you forgot something.
I am a manager. I know how to cut losses. ”
His face changed. “What do you mean?
”
“Sarah and Maya are also here,” I said. “We all went to the police. We reported you. They are coming.
”
He said I could not do this. I said yes, I could. And I did. Twenty minutes later, the police came and took Rory away.
He tried to talk, to explain, but nobody listened. Sarah, Maya, and I stood together and watched him leave. We were free. The next week, the story went online.
People shared it everywhere. Rory’s reputation was destroyed. Nobody wanted to work with him. Nobody believed him anymore.
I lost a lot of money. I could not pay my rent. I moved to a smaller apartment on the fifth floor. It was not big or fancy, but it was mine.
I still worked at my company, but I changed. I did not pay for dinners anymore. I did not give money anymore. I said no.
When people asked for help, I said, “I am sorry. I cannot help you. ”
Some people stopped talking to me. They said I had changed.
They said I was not kind anymore. I did not 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 do not like that word anymore.
It reminds me of Rory. It reminds me of the pain. One day, I walked past a jewelry store and saw a small necklace in the window. It was simple and beautiful.
It cost two hundred dollars. I had the money, my last paycheck of the month. I went inside and bought it. The woman behind the counter asked, “Is this a gift?
”
I said, “No. It is for me. ”
I went home and stood in front of my mirror. I put on the necklace and looked at myself.
For the first time in my life, I kept something for myself. I did not give it away. I did not share it. It was mine.
I smiled at my reflection and said, “This is for me. ”
He loved the giving part of me. But I finally learned to love the keeping part of myself.
