I found my stolen smartwatch on a second-hand website—listed by my girlfriend, Roya. Pretending to be a buyer, I confronted her at the meeting spot. She froze, caught selling my graduation gift from my brother, engraved with our late father’s Farsi quote: “Time never waits.” It vanished from my apartment a week prior; I’d torn the place apart searching. Roya admitted she needed money for her car, claiming she’d repay me. Hurt, I walked away, watch in hand, heart broken.
A week later, she appeared at my door, explaining her mom’s hospital bills and spiraling debts pushed her to sell my watch. Ashamed, she couldn’t ask for help. She never spent the money, intending to return it. I didn’t take her back but didn’t shut her out either—I needed time.
Weeks later, $5,000 appeared in my account, with a text from Roya: “For the watch. And everything I took for granted.” I didn’t reply. Months later, at a fundraiser for her mom’s clinic, Roya seemed healthier, calmer, working a new job. We spoke briefly, no bitterness—just closure. I donated $1,000 anonymously to the clinic. She never knew. Some things don’t need reopening, but they deserve peace. People hurt when drowning, not always from malice. Forgive when ready, heal as needed.
