When I had surgery and couldn’t drive, I lent my car to my sister Kathy for a month. I asked only that she take care of it. She used it daily, even helping me with errands, and I trusted her completely. The day before an important job interview, she returned the keys, thanking me for saving her from a transportation crisis. I was relieved to have my independence back.
The next morning, dressed and ready, I rushed to my car—only for the engine to sputter and die. Kathy admitted she hadn’t put in gas, saying she thought I’d “take care of that part.” I called ride-shares, but the delay made me 30 minutes late. The receptionist politely told me they were moving forward with other candidates. My chance was gone, all because of her carelessness.
When I told my dad what happened, he was furious. That night at dinner, he confronted Kathy, pointing out that she had borrowed my car for a month without paying a cent and returned it empty, causing me to miss a crucial interview. She tried to excuse herself by saying she was broke, but Dad reminded her he’d seen her dining out earlier that week. He made her fill my tank and repay the fuel cost.
I used that money to attend another interview and got the job. Kathy and I barely speak now, and while it’s sad, I see it as a costly but important lesson. I’ve learned that kindness has value—and if someone can’t respect that, they don’t deserve it.