After surgery, I couldn’t drive for a month. When my sister Kathy’s car broke down, I lent her mine without hesitation. No rental fee, no limits just a simple promise that she’d take care of it. Four weeks later, the night before my dream job interview, she dropped off my Honda with a smile and a “You saved my life, sis.” I went to bed feeling relieved to have my independence back.
The next morning, I dressed in my best blazer, grabbed my portfolio, and headed out. But as soon as I turned the key, the engine coughed, sputtered, and died. I tried again. Nothing. I checked the gauge—empty. Completely empty. Panicked, I called Kathy. “Oh… yeah,” she said casually. “I didn’t fill it up last night. Figured you’d handle it.” “Kathy, my interview is in less than an hour!” “Then call an Uber,” she replied, as if it were nothing.
By the time a car finally arrived, I was half an hour late. The receptionist smiled politely but told me the hiring manager had already left. Just like that, months of preparation went up in smoke. That night, Dad invited Kathy over for Sunday dinner. Halfway through, he set down his knife and told her exactly what she’d cost me. She stammered excuses about being broke, but Dad reminded her he’d seen her out at a restaurant days earlier.
Then he handed her a gas can and told her she’d be filling my tank and paying me back tonight. The next day, she shoved an envelope of crumpled bills into my hand without meeting my eyes. I used it to get to another interview across town. This time, I got the job. Kathy and I barely speak now. Lending her my car taught me something I’ll never forget: kindness is valuable, and I’m done letting people treat mine like it’s free.