The screen glowed back at me, a digital abyss where years of dreams used to be.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
I had been humming softly earlier, making coffee, thinking about my daughter, Maya, and her excitement for college applications.
It was a Tuesday morning, just like any other, or so I thought.
We’d been friends since we were six years old, me and Sarah.
Through scraped knees, first crushes, high school drama, and even our respective divorces.
She was the person who knew all my secrets, the one I called when the world felt like it was crumbling.
More than a friend, she was family.
My chosen sister.
When my husband left, it was Sarah who held me as I cried, who brought over casseroles, who helped me figure out how to navigate life as a single mom.
She even helped me set up a dedicated savings account for Maya’s college.
Every extra dollar, every bonus, every tax refund went into that account.
It was sacred.
It represented every sacrifice I made, every extra shift I picked up, every late night I spent budgeting.
It was Maya’s future, her chance to go to the university she’d dreamed of since she was little, the one with the incredible marine biology program.
We talked about it constantly, Maya’s face lighting up whenever she mentioned coral reefs and deep-sea exploration.
Sarah was always there, nodding along, encouraging Maya, saying how proud she was of our hard work.
She knew how much it meant.
She knew exactly how much.
Last month, I’d given Sarah the account login details because she offered to help me review some financial aid forms for Maya.
She was so good with numbers, always organized.
I trusted her implicitly.
That trust, I now realize, was a gaping wound waiting to be exploited.
A small notification popped up on my banking app that morning, just a routine account alert, but something felt off.
A gut feeling.
A cold, creeping dread that started in my stomach and spread through my veins like ice water.
I clicked on the college fund account.
The page loaded slowly, agonizingly, like time itself was slowing down to prolong my torment.
Then I saw it.
The balance.
It was gone.
Not just a little bit, not a mistake, but completely, utterly, devastatingly empty.
Zero.
My breath hitched in my throat.
No, this couldn’t be right.
I refreshed the page frantically, my fingers trembling so hard I almost dropped my phone.
Still zero.
My mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation.
A glitch?
Identity theft?
But then I saw the transaction history.
A series of large transfers, all within the last two weeks, all to an unfamiliar account.
And then I saw the name associated with that account.
Sarah.
My Sarah.
My best friend.
