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My mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer and urgently needed $300K for surgery.
My wife knelt in my study for a full day and night, begging me for the money to save her life.
Her knees were rubbed raw into blisters, her forehead swollen purple from bowing against the floor.
She'd cried until her voice was ragged.
"Tristan Simmons, please. Mom doesn't have much time left."
I was in a schoolmate's livestream, and I casually tipped her $500K.
Then I transferred the last $700 in my account to Ellie Pruitt.
"That's all the money there is. Take it or leave it."
It was barely enough to cover one day of her mother's treatment.
The next day, Ellie came home just in time to see me tip the streamer another $300K.
Her eyes rimmed red.
"The hospital says if we don't pay, they'll take Mom off her meds."
I kept sending gifts in the livestream, smiling as I said it.
"You keep working on the money. I support you. Emotionally."
Her mother's condition only worsened the longer it dragged on.
Ellie sold off all her jewelry, then knelt in front of me again.
"Count it as a loan. I'm begging you."
She pleaded through her tears. "After Mom's surgery, I'll work and pay you back."
I ignored her kneeling and called in someone from finance.
"My wife needs money. Help her apply for a personal loan."
Ellie shook with sobbing.
Finance looked uneasy. "Mr. Simmons, this is something one transfer would solve. Why a personal loan?"
I kept it strictly business. "Spending money on a cancer patient is money you'll never see again."
"It's a failed investment. I'm not carrying that loss."
"Just like back then... she was afraid of the risk too, and didn't give me a single cent."
Ellie suddenly stopped crying.
She quietly picked up the pen.
"The loan contract. I'll sign."
...
The finance guy went pale.
He looked at me, then at Ellie on the floor.
The contract in his hand, unsure whether to hand it over or take it back.
"Mr. Simmons... do you really want to do this?"
He hesitated.
"With your wife's situation, a personal loan, the interest's brutal, and it's... it's just wrong."
My tone stayed strictly business.
"The contract's signed. We follow procedure."
"And, to be clear up front."
I looked up and pointed at the contract to make the point. "If she defaults and can't repay, you sue her directly."
"Freeze whatever assets need freezing, report her to the credit bureaus if it comes to that. Don't go easy."
As I spoke, Ellie swayed.
Maybe she'd knelt too long, her legs numb past the point of holding her.
Finance didn't dare say another word.
He lowered his head in silence, took the paperwork, and led Ellie out to process it.
As she passed me, Ellie looked at me once.
Her eyes were swollen, threaded with red.
Whatever brightness they used to hold, all that was left now was blankness and drift.
Like a puppet with no soul in it.
I smiled, polite and distant, and saw her out of the room.
Then I sat back down at the computer.
In the livestream, the streamer was still thanking me for the tip.
The comments scrolled past in a dense blur.
I tapped the screen, and another $300K in gifts went out.
She looked flustered and flattered.
Her tone went a little careful.
"Tristan, thank you for the support... but I heard your wife's mother needs money right now."
"You keep sending me gifts. Won't your wife mind?"
The comment feed exploded in an instant.
Message after message: "Baller," "Big man does what he wants."
I typed back, offhand.
"I'm just her husband. I'm not her safety net."
"The money I earn, I spend how I want. That's nobody else's call."
The streamer hurried to smooth it over.
"I just think it's sad, your aunt being sick..."
I let out a small laugh, my voice flat.
"Sickness and death, everyone gets their turn. No need to get dramatic about it."
"Someone who's going to die anyway, pouring money into treatment is a bottomless pit."
"It's a guaranteed loss. No reason for me to give my wife money."
The comment feed went suddenly quiet.
The streamer forced out a laugh. "You're too funny, Tristan... I'm going to end the stream. I've got class tomorrow."
The livestream window closed.
I looked at the screen and suddenly felt bored.
I cracked open a bottle of aged whiskey.
The sharp burn slid down my throat, scorching all the way, but it couldn't touch the knot buried in my chest.
I knew how I looked. Like a bastard, like the worst kind of man.
But I didn't regret it.
Why should my future have counted for nothing back then?
And now her troubles, I'm supposed to gladly cover them?
A trace of mockery settled in my eyes.
A marriage goes both ways. She was cold first. All I'm doing now is returning the favor.
Then a key turned in the door.
My daughter, who always boarded at school, was suddenly home.
Her eyes were red, and her voice caught.
"Dad! Aren't you being too heartless?"
