For months, I helped my coworker—I gave her money she never repaid. Covered countless shifts. Last night she called, crying, begging me to work for her again.
For the first time, I refused. This morning I saw her message in our company chat. My hands shook when I read it.
She wrote, “I just want everyone to know that I won’t be coming in anymore because I’ve finally achieved what I set out to do, and I couldn’t have done it without the person who thought they were just covering my shifts.”
I sat at my kitchen table in a small town outside of Manchester, my coffee going cold as I stared at the glowing screen of my phone. The coworker’s name was Robyn. She had joined our logistics firm about six months ago, appearing like a whirlwind of frantic energy and constant bad luck.
From the very first week, it was always something: a broken-down car, a sick relative, or a sudden bill that she just couldn’t cover until payday. I’m the kind of person who finds it hard to say no, especially when someone is standing in front of me with watery eyes. I had handed over twenty pounds here, fifty pounds there, and I’d lost count of how many Saturdays I’d spent in the warehouse so she could handle her “emergencies.” My friends told me I was being a doormat, but I always told them that you never know what someone is going through.
But last night had been different. I was exhausted, my own bills were piling up, and I had finally planned a quiet evening to myself for the first time in weeks. When Robyn called, her voice was a jagged mess of sobs, asking me to take her 6 a.m.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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