Why I Stole $500 from My Best Friend .

The hospital waiting room's fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of irate bees. I glared at my shaking hands, which were still streaked with ink from the check I'd forged hours before. $500. That's how much it took to save my sister's life—or at least give her another month's worth of insulin. And I'd taken it from the only person who'd believed in me since third grade: my best friend, Lena.

But let me take a step back.

"You'd Never Survive Without Me"

Lena and I weren't friends—we were family. She'd been there for my dad's funeral, my ill-fated engagement, and the time I got wasted and drove her Prius into a dumpster. "You're a disaster, but you're my disaster," she'd joke, always covering the cost of my blunders.

Then came the layoff.

I'd been getting by on gig jobs when my sister's Type 1 diabetes escalated. Her insurance expired. Birthday money for my niece turned into syringe money. By the time the hospital called regarding her ketoacidosis, I was shoplifting toilet paper from gas stations.

I called Lena.

"Can you loan me $500? Just until my unemployment benefits kick in."

Silence. Then: "Again? You've got to stop patching bandaids over bullet wounds, Jess."

The ring of her hanging up had a louder echo than the ER heart monitor.

The Night I Became a Thief

Lena stored a spare key under her welcome mat—"For emergencies," she'd say. That night, I discovered "emergency" stood for "when I'm desperate enough to ruin my life."

Her place smelled of vanilla candles and betrayal. I discovered her checkbook in the junk drawer, beside a picture of us from college. Two girls laughing, never mind the future.

My hands trembled as I scribbled out "Five Hundred Dollars" in my best Lena script. I swore to myself I'd reimburse her.

I nearly convinced myself.

The Lie That Unraveled Everything

For two weeks, nothing. My sister received her insulin. Life was almost normal—until Lena sent a text:

"Why's my account overdrawn? Did YOU do this?"

Panic gripped my throat. I wrote, "No—maybe it's fraud? Call the bank!"

Big mistake.

Lena's next call made my blood freeze: "They're pulling security footage. Jess… please tell me it's not you."

I hung up. Blocked her number. Ghosted her like a coward.

The Truth I Never Saw Coming

A month later, a letter arrived. No return address. Inside: a photo of Lena and my ex-fiancé, cheeks pressed together at a rooftop bar. Dated two days before he left me.

Scrawled on the back:

"You’re not the only thief.

– Anonymous"

Turns out Lena had been "comforting" him long before our breakup. The $500 was a drop in the bucket compared to what she’d stolen from me.

Why I’d Do It Again

Do I regret the stolen money? No. But I regret the years I wasted on a friend who'd already stripped my bones clean.

Lena never reported me. Perhaps guilt exists in shades of gray. Or perhaps she knew I'd broadcast her secrets to all those who ever sympathized with her "poor, unstable friend."

Here's what $500 got me:

Clarity: Toxic people thrive on keeping you in their debt.

Survival: My sister's alive.

Revenge: Sometimes, karma needs a little push.

Was it wrong? Yes.

But so was she.

What Would YOU Do?

Leave a comment below—would you steal from someone who betrayed you? Or is there a line you'd never cross?

Share this story if you've ever cut ties with a toxic friend!