Last year, I quietly loaned $70,000 of my personal savings to someone I once trusted deeply: my former manager. I did it out of compassion, believing I was helping someone in crisis, someone who had no other options. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to share — but I believe it’s important.

Over the course of a couple months, I loaned my former manager money from my personal savings under the repeated promise that he would pay me back. Each time, the request came with urgency and emotional weight — unpaid bills, legal fees, and support for his parents, for whom he’s the primary caregiver. A large portion of the money was used to pay for a DACA lawyer to help him and his family stay in the U.S. legally.

As the child of an immigrant myself, I understood the pressure and fear he carried. I believed that stepping in was the right thing to do. But the truth is, I was manipulated. What began as a working relationship gradually shifted — the lines between mentorship and friendship blurred. He took advantage of my compassion and my willingness to help, knowing I was someone who wouldn’t say no. And he did all of this while I was in the midst of rebuilding my own life after surviving an abusive relationship. I wasn’t in a place to carry someone else’s financial burden, but I did — because I believed in showing up for people when they have no one else.

To protect myself, I eventually created a legal document outlining the terms of repayment — a simple agreement for him to sign, with terms he helped shape. I wanted to hold him accountable, while still giving him the chance to take ownership. But even with that, he has continued to struggle with follow-through. And now, I’m the one left financially drained, emotionally exhausted, and trying to navigate the fallout.

I haven’t taken him to court, even though I legally could. The reality is that doing so could put his immigration status — and his family’s future — at serious risk. I’m carrying the weight of his broken promises, trying to protect someone who didn’t protect me.

I don't want to take legal action — doing so could jeopardize his ability to remain in this country. But I also can’t keep paying the price for someone else’s choices. I’m sharing my story not to shame, but to raise awareness of how emotional manipulation can take advantage of good intentions — and how devastating that fallout can be.

This fundraiser is my way of trying to recover — not just financially, but emotionally — and to shed light on the financial vulnerability so many quietly carry after helping others. I want to be able to financially help my family as well and create a bright future for myself. Your support will not only help me reclaim my future, but also help raise awareness for those who give quietly and suffer in silence.

How You Can Help:

Donate — Every dollar helps me rebuild what I’ve lost.

Share — Even if you can't give, spreading the word means everything.

Start the Conversation — Emotional and financial manipulation is real, and it's time we talk about it.

Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for standing with me.

With gratitude and hope,

April