A Wealthy Man Faked a Life-Threatening Illness to Test His Struggling Girlfriend’s Love — She Vanished for Five Days, but Her Return Left Him Sobbing Like a Child I had money, and I decided to put my financially struggling girlfriend’s love to the test by pretending I was dying and had no way to pay for treatment. Her message read, “I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.” Yet when she finally came back, what she did reduced me to tears.
Skyla and I had grown up in entirely different circumstances.
Money had never been something I needed to worry about as a child.
My parents were wealthy, I had built a thriving business of my own, and whenever something stopped working, I simply bought a replacement without even looking at the price tag.
Skyla, meanwhile, was a college student supporting herself entirely.
She worked nights and weekends, drove a worn-out car that was forever breaking down, purchased her textbooks secondhand, and carefully divided each paycheck between tuition, housing, and food.
Some weeks she ate little more than noodles so she could keep up with her college bills.
Still, throughout nearly two years as a couple, she had never asked me for a cent.
Whenever I offered to contribute toward her tuition, she turned me down.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she would tell me.
That determination deserved my respect.
Instead, I allowed the opinions of the people around me to poison my thinking.
My friends repeatedly warned me that a woman struggling so badly with money had plenty of reasons to hold on to a wealthy boyfriend.
Even my mother and father doubted what she wanted from me.
My mother had once cautioned me, “Just be careful. Some people are very good at pretending they love you until they get what they want.”
Dad was blunter still.
“She knows what your family has. Don’t let yourself be used.”
Hearing those suspicions again and again eventually made me question things myself.
Was Skyla in love with me, or was she in love with my bank account?
That was when I dreamed up a foolish test.
I told her doctors had discovered a serious disease.
I also claimed the medical care I required would cost more than I could possibly pay and that, despite their wealth, my parents were unable to help me this time.
The color drained from Skyla’s face.
“How much do you need?” she asked.
I gave her a figure that I knew she could never afford.
For the following two days, she called repeatedly to ask about specialists, loans, installment plans, and any other possibility she could think of.
Then a message appeared on my phone.
“I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.”
I called her anyway.
She never picked up.
Five days passed without a word.
At that point, I became convinced that my family and friends had understood her all along.
To me, her sudden absence seemed to prove every ugly suspicion I had entertained.
But on the evening of the fifth day, my front door swung open.
Skyla stepped inside, visibly worn out.
I sprang to my feet.
“Where have you been?”
Instead of answering, she set an object down on the table before me.
Within moments, my vision blurred with tears.
“Skyla… what have you done?”
The first time Skyla saw me tossing out a coffee maker, she looked at me as if I’d completely lost my senses.
“It stopped working,” I told her.
“Did you try cleaning it?”
“I bought another one.”
Her eyes moved to the brand-new machine already sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Archie, the old one probably just needed descaling.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Clearly.”
She took the supposedly broken coffee maker back to her place.
Two days afterward, a photograph arrived showing the machine running perfectly again.
FIXED. COST: $4.
I laughed so hard I couldn’t contain myself.
That was exactly the kind of person Skyla was.
She was twenty-four and approaching the end of college, supporting herself with evening shifts at a restaurant.
Her car produced a terrible noise on left turns. Her aging laptop took several minutes to boot up, and she relied on used textbooks and carefully counted what she could spend on groceries once her rent was covered.
My situation could hardly have been more different. I managed a successful company and belonged to a well-to-do family in which almost nobody bothered to check prices.
We had been dating for close to two years.
Every time I suggested paying her school fees, Skyla politely said no.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she always explained.
My parents, however, saw the situation through a different lens.
During a Sunday visit, my mother asked whether Skyla really understood just how much wealth our family possessed.
“She’s met you, Mom,” I replied. “She knows you’re comfortable.”
“That’s not what I asked, Archie.”
Dad was much less subtle when voicing his misgivings.
“Be careful. Some people know how to wait until you’ve let your guard down.”
My friends echoed the very same concerns.
One friend had recently gone through an especially nasty breakup. He was convinced his ex had remained with him solely because she enjoyed the life he could provide.
“Your girlfriend’s broke, Archie. You’re telling me she doesn’t see an opportunity?”
At first, I stood up for Skyla without hesitation.
But after hearing their warnings so many times, I slowly began absorbing them.
She had never come to me asking for money.
Was that because she honestly had no interest in it?
Or had she cleverly worked out that directly asking would raise my suspicions?
Once that thought took hold, even the simplest acts of affection began looking suspicious to me.
When she cooked a meal at my apartment, I questioned whether she was putting on a performance to win me over.
When she remembered the date of an important business meeting, I wondered if it was a calculated effort to keep me pleased.
One night, she turned up with her temperamental laptop, its display flashing whenever she shifted it.
“Let me buy you a new one,” I offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got a repair appointment.”
“Skyla, I can afford it.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
She lifted her gaze to mine.
“Because I can handle this.”
I ought to have taken her answer at face value and admired her independence.
Instead, all I could hear was my father’s warning replaying in my head.
One week later, I came up with the worst idea I’d ever had.
I was going to test her.
I persuaded myself that I needed to discover whether she’d stand beside me once I supposedly had nothing left to give.
Sitting in my car before her arrival, I rehearsed the false story I was about to tell.
As soon as Skyla came into my kitchen, she could tell something was wrong.
“Archie? Baby, what happened?”
I sank down into a chair.
“I got some medical results.”
Her bag fell from her hand.
“What kind of results?”
“I have a serious illness.”
She went completely still.
“What?”
“The doctors say I need treatment. Soon. Or else…”
She dragged a chair next to mine.
“Which doctor? What exactly did they find?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I need another appointment before they’ll explain the treatment plan.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” She enclosed my hand in hers. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
That was when I moved on to the financial part of my lie.
“The treatment is expensive. More than I can afford.”
Her forehead creased.
“But you have insurance.”
“It won’t cover enough.”
“What about your parents?”
“They can’t help this time.”
I quoted an enormous sum, fully aware there was no realistic way she could find it.
She echoed the number back to me.
“That much?”
I nodded.
She sat silently for several moments, then asked, “How much time do we have to find it?”
I’d been waiting for her to ask if there was any money left in my accounts.
But all she wanted to know was how long we had.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She pulled out her phone.
“Then we need to find out.”
**The story isn’t over yet. Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.**
A Wealthy Man Faked a Life-Threatening Illness to Test His Struggling Girlfriend’s Love — She Vanished for Five Days, but Her Return Left Him Sobbing Like a Child
I had money, and I decided to put my financially struggling girlfriend’s love to the test by pretending I was dying and had no way to pay for treatment. Her message read, “I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.” Yet when she finally came back, what she did reduced me to tears.
Skyla and I had grown up in entirely different circumstances.
Money had never been something I needed to worry about as a child.
My parents were wealthy, I had built a thriving business of my own, and whenever something stopped working, I simply bought a replacement without even looking at the price tag.
Skyla, meanwhile, was a college student supporting herself entirely.
She worked nights and weekends, drove a worn-out car that was forever breaking down, purchased her textbooks secondhand, and carefully divided each paycheck between tuition, housing, and food.
Some weeks she ate little more than noodles so she could keep up with her college bills.
Still, throughout nearly two years as a couple, she had never asked me for a cent.
Whenever I offered to contribute toward her tuition, she turned me down.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she would tell me.
That determination deserved my respect.
Instead, I allowed the opinions of the people around me to poison my thinking.
My friends repeatedly warned me that a woman struggling so badly with money had plenty of reasons to hold on to a wealthy boyfriend.
Even my mother and father doubted what she wanted from me.
My mother had once cautioned me, “Just be careful. Some people are very good at pretending they love you until they get what they want.”
Dad was blunter still.
“She knows what your family has. Don’t let yourself be used.”
Hearing those suspicions again and again eventually made me question things myself.
Was Skyla in love with me, or was she in love with my bank account?
That was when I dreamed up a foolish test.
I told her doctors had discovered a serious disease.
I also claimed the medical care I required would cost more than I could possibly pay and that, despite their wealth, my parents were unable to help me this time.
The color drained from Skyla’s face.
“How much do you need?” she asked.
I gave her a figure that I knew she could never afford.
For the following two days, she called repeatedly to ask about specialists, loans, installment plans, and any other possibility she could think of.
Then a message appeared on my phone.
“I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.”
I called her anyway.
She never picked up.
Five days passed without a word.
At that point, I became convinced that my family and friends had understood her all along.
To me, her sudden absence seemed to prove every ugly suspicion I had entertained.
But on the evening of the fifth day, my front door swung open.
Skyla stepped inside, visibly worn out.
I sprang to my feet.
“Where have you been?”
Instead of answering, she set an object down on the table before me.
Within moments, my vision blurred with tears.
“Skyla… what have you done?”
The first time Skyla saw me tossing out a coffee maker, she looked at me as if I’d completely lost my senses.
“It stopped working,” I told her.
“Did you try cleaning it?”
“I bought another one.”
Her eyes moved to the brand-new machine already sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Archie, the old one probably just needed descaling.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Clearly.”
She took the supposedly broken coffee maker back to her place.
Two days afterward, a photograph arrived showing the machine running perfectly again.
FIXED. COST: $4.
I laughed so hard I couldn’t contain myself.
That was exactly the kind of person Skyla was.
She was twenty-four and approaching the end of college, supporting herself with evening shifts at a restaurant.
Her car produced a terrible noise on left turns. Her aging laptop took several minutes to boot up, and she relied on used textbooks and carefully counted what she could spend on groceries once her rent was covered.
My situation could hardly have been more different. I managed a successful company and belonged to a well-to-do family in which almost nobody bothered to check prices.
We had been dating for close to two years.
Every time I suggested paying her school fees, Skyla politely said no.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she always explained.
My parents, however, saw the situation through a different lens.
During a Sunday visit, my mother asked whether Skyla really understood just how much wealth our family possessed.
“She’s met you, Mom,” I replied. “She knows you’re comfortable.”
“That’s not what I asked, Archie.”
Dad was much less subtle when voicing his misgivings.
“Be careful. Some people know how to wait until you’ve let your guard down.”
My friends echoed the very same concerns.
One friend had recently gone through an especially nasty breakup. He was convinced his ex had remained with him solely because she enjoyed the life he could provide.
“Your girlfriend’s broke, Archie. You’re telling me she doesn’t see an opportunity?”
At first, I stood up for Skyla without hesitation.
But after hearing their warnings so many times, I slowly began absorbing them.
She had never come to me asking for money.
Was that because she honestly had no interest in it?
Or had she cleverly worked out that directly asking would raise my suspicions?
Once that thought took hold, even the simplest acts of affection began looking suspicious to me.
When she cooked a meal at my apartment, I questioned whether she was putting on a performance to win me over.
When she remembered the date of an important business meeting, I wondered if it was a calculated effort to keep me pleased.
One night, she turned up with her temperamental laptop, its display flashing whenever she shifted it.
“Let me buy you a new one,” I offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got a repair appointment.”
“Skyla, I can afford it.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
She lifted her gaze to mine.
“Because I can handle this.”
I ought to have taken her answer at face value and admired her independence.
Instead, all I could hear was my father’s warning replaying in my head.
One week later, I came up with the worst idea I’d ever had.
I was going to test her.
I persuaded myself that I needed to discover whether she’d stand beside me once I supposedly had nothing left to give.
Sitting in my car before her arrival, I rehearsed the false story I was about to tell.
As soon as Skyla came into my kitchen, she could tell something was wrong.
“Archie? Baby, what happened?”
I sank down into a chair.
“I got some medical results.”
Her bag fell from her hand.
“What kind of results?”
“I have a serious illness.”
She went completely still.
“What?”
“The doctors say I need treatment. Soon. Or else…”
She dragged a chair next to mine.
“Which doctor? What exactly did they find?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I need another appointment before they’ll explain the treatment plan.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” She enclosed my hand in hers. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
That was when I moved on to the financial part of my lie.
“The treatment is expensive. More than I can afford.”
Her forehead creased.
“But you have insurance.”
“It won’t cover enough.”
“What about your parents?”
“They can’t help this time.”
I quoted an enormous sum, fully aware there was no realistic way she could find it.
She echoed the number back to me.
“That much?”
I nodded.
She sat silently for several moments, then asked, “How much time do we have to find it?”
I’d been waiting for her to ask if there was any money left in my accounts.
But all she wanted to know was how long we had.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She pulled out her phone.
“Then we need to find out.”
**The story isn’t over yet. Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.**
A Wealthy Man Faked a Life-Threatening Illness to Test His Struggling Girlfriend’s Love — She Vanished for Five Days, but Her Return Left Him Sobbing Like a Child
I had money, and I decided to put my financially struggling girlfriend’s love to the test by pretending I was dying and had no way to pay for treatment. Her message read, “I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.” Yet when she finally came back, what she did reduced me to tears.
Skyla and I had grown up in entirely different circumstances.
Money had never been something I needed to worry about as a child.
My parents were wealthy, I had built a thriving business of my own, and whenever something stopped working, I simply bought a replacement without even looking at the price tag.
Skyla, meanwhile, was a college student supporting herself entirely.
She worked nights and weekends, drove a worn-out car that was forever breaking down, purchased her textbooks secondhand, and carefully divided each paycheck between tuition, housing, and food.
Some weeks she ate little more than noodles so she could keep up with her college bills.
Still, throughout nearly two years as a couple, she had never asked me for a cent.
Whenever I offered to contribute toward her tuition, she turned me down.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she would tell me.
That determination deserved my respect.
Instead, I allowed the opinions of the people around me to poison my thinking.
My friends repeatedly warned me that a woman struggling so badly with money had plenty of reasons to hold on to a wealthy boyfriend.
Even my mother and father doubted what she wanted from me.
My mother had once cautioned me, “Just be careful. Some people are very good at pretending they love you until they get what they want.”
Dad was blunter still.
“She knows what your family has. Don’t let yourself be used.”
Hearing those suspicions again and again eventually made me question things myself.
Was Skyla in love with me, or was she in love with my bank account?
That was when I dreamed up a foolish test.
I told her doctors had discovered a serious disease.
I also claimed the medical care I required would cost more than I could possibly pay and that, despite their wealth, my parents were unable to help me this time.
The color drained from Skyla’s face.
“How much do you need?” she asked.
I gave her a figure that I knew she could never afford.
For the following two days, she called repeatedly to ask about specialists, loans, installment plans, and any other possibility she could think of.
Then a message appeared on my phone.
“I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.”
I called her anyway.
She never picked up.
Five days passed without a word.
At that point, I became convinced that my family and friends had understood her all along.
To me, her sudden absence seemed to prove every ugly suspicion I had entertained.
But on the evening of the fifth day, my front door swung open.
Skyla stepped inside, visibly worn out.
I sprang to my feet.
“Where have you been?”
Instead of answering, she set an object down on the table before me.
Within moments, my vision blurred with tears.
“Skyla… what have you done?”
The first time Skyla saw me tossing out a coffee maker, she looked at me as if I’d completely lost my senses.
“It stopped working,” I told her.
“Did you try cleaning it?”
“I bought another one.”
Her eyes moved to the brand-new machine already sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Archie, the old one probably just needed descaling.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Clearly.”
She took the supposedly broken coffee maker back to her place.
Two days afterward, a photograph arrived showing the machine running perfectly again.
FIXED. COST: $4.
I laughed so hard I couldn’t contain myself.
That was exactly the kind of person Skyla was.
She was twenty-four and approaching the end of college, supporting herself with evening shifts at a restaurant.
Her car produced a terrible noise on left turns. Her aging laptop took several minutes to boot up, and she relied on used textbooks and carefully counted what she could spend on groceries once her rent was covered.
My situation could hardly have been more different. I managed a successful company and belonged to a well-to-do family in which almost nobody bothered to check prices.
We had been dating for close to two years.
Every time I suggested paying her school fees, Skyla politely said no.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she always explained.
My parents, however, saw the situation through a different lens.
During a Sunday visit, my mother asked whether Skyla really understood just how much wealth our family possessed.
“She’s met you, Mom,” I replied. “She knows you’re comfortable.”
“That’s not what I asked, Archie.”
Dad was much less subtle when voicing his misgivings.
“Be careful. Some people know how to wait until you’ve let your guard down.”
My friends echoed the very same concerns.
One friend had recently gone through an especially nasty breakup. He was convinced his ex had remained with him solely because she enjoyed the life he could provide.
“Your girlfriend’s broke, Archie. You’re telling me she doesn’t see an opportunity?”
At first, I stood up for Skyla without hesitation.
But after hearing their warnings so many times, I slowly began absorbing them.
She had never come to me asking for money.
Was that because she honestly had no interest in it?
Or had she cleverly worked out that directly asking would raise my suspicions?
Once that thought took hold, even the simplest acts of affection began looking suspicious to me.
When she cooked a meal at my apartment, I questioned whether she was putting on a performance to win me over.
When she remembered the date of an important business meeting, I wondered if it was a calculated effort to keep me pleased.
One night, she turned up with her temperamental laptop, its display flashing whenever she shifted it.
“Let me buy you a new one,” I offered.
“No, thanks. I’ve got a repair appointment.”
“Skyla, I can afford it.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
She lifted her gaze to mine.
“Because I can handle this.”
I ought to have taken her answer at face value and admired her independence.
Instead, all I could hear was my father’s warning replaying in my head.
One week later, I came up with the worst idea I’d ever had.
I was going to test her.
I persuaded myself that I needed to discover whether she’d stand beside me once I supposedly had nothing left to give.
Sitting in my car before her arrival, I rehearsed the false story I was about to tell.
As soon as Skyla came into my kitchen, she could tell something was wrong.
“Archie? Baby, what happened?”
I sank down into a chair.
“I got some medical results.”
Her bag fell from her hand.
“What kind of results?”
“I have a serious illness.”
She went completely still.
“What?”
“The doctors say I need treatment. Soon. Or else…”
She dragged a chair next to mine.
“Which doctor? What exactly did they find?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I need another appointment before they’ll explain the treatment plan.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” She enclosed my hand in hers. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
That was when I moved on to the financial part of my lie.
“The treatment is expensive. More than I can afford.”
Her forehead creased.
“But you have insurance.”
“It won’t cover enough.”
“What about your parents?”
“They can’t help this time.”
I quoted an enormous sum, fully aware there was no realistic way she could find it.
She echoed the number back to me.
“That much?”
I nodded.
She sat silently for several moments, then asked, “How much time do we have to find it?”
I’d been waiting for her to ask if there was any money left in my accounts.
But all she wanted to know was how long we had.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She pulled out her phone.
“Then we need to find out.”
**The story isn’t over yet. Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.**
The following morning, I sent Skyla a single message. I apologized and offered to reimburse the money she’d spent traveling, as well as the wages she’d missed while away.
Her response was that she would pay her own expenses and that she needed some distance from me.
I honored what she asked.
After that, I confessed the whole thing to my parents.
Mom’s first response was, “Well, at least you know she wasn’t after your money.”
“She spent five days trying to save my life. I spent five days deciding she wanted my money.”
My father argued that I’d only been attempting to protect myself.
“I could’ve been cautious without lying to her,” I told him.
Neither of my parents had an answer to that.
I started meeting with a counselor.
Several weeks went by before I finally received a message from Skyla.
Coffee? Our old diner. Saturday.
When she came to the diner, she appeared to be doing well.
We talked first about her college courses and about Meryl. Eventually, Skyla put her coffee cup down.
“Do you still think I’d have left if you really were sick?”
“No.”
She kept her eyes on me, watching closely.
“But that’s not why I was wrong,” I went on. “I frightened you because I wanted proof. You never agreed to be tested.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
“I understand.”
She drank the rest of her coffee.
“Maybe we could meet again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
Little by little, we started repairing what I had damaged between us.
A few months afterward, Skyla asked me to come to her place for dinner.
She was cooking her grandmother’s chicken soup.
I was busy chopping vegetables while she looked through the wooden box of recipes.
Eventually, she took out a more recent card and placed it in my hand.
FOR THE PERSON I LOVE.
On its back she’d written a list before setting off to stay at Meryl’s house.
The very last instruction said:
Don’t let him forget he’s still Archie, even when he’s frightened.
I went over those words twice.
Tears gathered in my eyes.
Skyla carefully took the card from me and slipped it back into the box.
“I almost threw that one away,” she told me. “I’m glad I waited.”
“Thank you for letting me come back.”
“Then keep giving me reasons to trust you.”
I nodded my agreement.
All at once, an odd smell began spreading through the kitchen.
Skyla turned her head toward the stove.
“Archie. You’re burning it.”
I snatched up the wooden spoon.
She moved to one side, making room for me to reach the pan.
