My best friend of 20 years watched me starve while hiding a secret

I've been staring at my kitchen table for an hour now, nursing the same cup of cold coffee. The bills are piled up next to me, and I keep thinking about how I got here. Betrayed by the one person I thought would never let me down.

Mike and I go way back — all the way to middle school. When his family moved to our small town in Ohio, I was the first kid who talked to him. You know how cruel children can be, and Mike was an easy target back then: gangly, red-haired, with ears that stuck out like satellite dishes. Our class wasn't exactly welcoming to outsiders. But I saw something in him, and we became inseparable.

We went through everything together. High school, our first heartbreaks, college — though neither of us finished. I had to drop out when Mom got sick. Someone had to work and make sure my little sister Emma got through school. Mike just decided his major wasn't for him and waited until they kicked him out. That was Mike — always taking the easy road.

For the next seven years, life got in the way, as it does. We'd lose touch for months, then reconnect like no time had passed at all. When I buried my mother, Mike was right there beside me. When his marriage fell apart, I was the shoulder he cried on. That's what real friendship is, I thought. Unbreakable.

Last year, everything changed for me. Emma got married, and we had to figure out what to do with our parents' house. She wanted her share of the equity, which was fair. I couldn't bear to sell the place — too many memories — so I took out a loan to buy her out. A big loan. The kind that keeps you up at night.

That's when Mike came back into my life with what seemed like perfect timing. He was opening an auto repair shop and needed a mechanic. I jumped at the chance. The pay was good, and hey — this was my best friend. He'd never do me wrong.

The first six months were fine. The work was steady, and the paycheck came on time. Well, mostly on time. Sometimes a day late, sometimes a week. I figured Mike was just working out the kinks of running a new business. What's a few days between friends?

Then three months ago, everything fell apart.

First, my paycheck was a week late. Then two weeks. The other guys who worked with me waited until the end of the month, got nothing, and walked out. But not me. I'm loyal, you see. Mike kept telling me about "cash flow problems" and "some bad deals" and how things would turn around any day now.

I believed him. Every word.

I started picking up side jobs just to keep the lights on and make my loan payments. Some weeks, the only hot meals I got were when Emma had me over for dinner. I was running on fumes, but Mike was my friend. Friends don't abandon each other when times get tough.

Month two: more excuses. I worked seven days a week, sometimes pulling double shifts. Mike kept saying he was in the same boat, struggling right alongside me. I felt bad for him, honestly.

Month three: Mike swore up and down that by the end of the month, he'd pay me everything he owed, plus a bonus for sticking with him. I was moved. Here was a friend who truly appreciated loyalty.

Then last week, I ran into our mutual friend Dave at the grocery store. He mentioned, casually, that Mike had just bought a brand-new SUV. Straight from the dealership. The kind of car that costs more than I make in two years.

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

When Mike came by the shop that evening, I asked him straight out. He shuffled his feet, looked anywhere but at my face, and finally admitted it was true.

I didn't let him explain. There was nothing to explain. While I was skipping meals and drowning in debt, while I was believing every lie he told me about being broke, he was out buying a luxury vehicle. You don't make that kind of purchase with your last dollar.

So here I am. No job. Three months of unpaid wages I'll probably never see. A loan payment due next week and no idea how I'll cover it. And no best friend.

I've blocked Mike on everything. Twenty years of friendship, and he traded it all for a car. A really nice car, sure, but still — just a car.

I keep asking myself: has friendship always been this cheap, or have cars just gotten that expensive?