MY BEST FRIEND PRANKED ME WITH A FAKE LOTTERY TICKET, AND I LOST IT
I ripped the ticket out of her hand, my voice trembling as I demanded she tell me it wasn’t a joke. The fluorescent kitchen light buzzed overhead, glaring down on her guilty smirk. She laughed — actually laughed — and said, “Come on, it’s just a prank!” Her voice echoed in my ears like a mockery.
I’d already called my mom. I’d already started planning how I’d fix her broken car, how I’d pay off my student loans, how I’d finally breathe without the weight of debt crushing me. The ticket felt heavy in my hand, the scratch-off flakes still clinging to my palm. “You don’t get it,” I snapped, my throat tight. “You never get it.”
She rolled her eyes, leaned against the counter, and said, “It’s not that big of a deal. Lighten up.” But it wasn’t about the ticket anymore. It was about how she could turn something that mattered into a punchline. Her phone buzzed on the table, flashing with a text from someone named “Jake.”
Then my phone buzzed — it was Jake, asking if I knew where she was.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The realization slammed into me. Jake was a new guy, a friend of hers, and they’d been texting all week. The giddy excitement I felt moments ago, about the money, about the possibility of freedom, evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache. I’d been so caught up in my own swirling anxieties that I hadn’t noticed her growing distance, the secret smiles, the phone glued to her hand. This prank, the cruel carelessness of it, wasn’t just about the fake lottery ticket; it was a symptom.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice suddenly laced with suspicion as I turned towards the door. I didn’t answer, just walked out, the kitchen light fading behind me. The street was quiet, the air crisp and cool. My head throbbed, a dull echo of the rage that had been consuming me. I knew what she was doing, and I hated her for it, for the petty betrayal that felt far sharper than any debt or car repair.
I didn’t go to Jake, though the thought crossed my mind. Instead, I walked, the pavement cold under my sneakers, until I reached the park. I sat on a swing set, the metal chains biting into my palms as I pushed myself higher. The motion, the rhythmic creak of the swings, started to soothe the chaos inside me.
Hours passed. I finally saw the error of my ways. It wasn’t about Jake, and it wasn’t even entirely about the lottery ticket. It was about me, about my own crushing anxieties and self-doubt. I had leaned on my friend for so long, expecting her to understand burdens she never had to carry. I had become so caught up in my own needs that I forgot to see her as a person, capable of flaws and making mistakes.
I knew, without a doubt, that our friendship was broken, maybe beyond repair. But I also knew that I needed to face my own problems, and to do it alone. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text: “I’m sorry. For everything. I need some space.”
The next day, I drove back to my friend’s house. The kitchen was brightly lit. She looked up, her face a mask of apprehension. I held out a small, wrapped gift. “I got you something,” I said.
She cautiously unwrapped it. Inside was a small, silver charm, a lottery ticket. It wasn’t fake, and I knew the odds were incredibly low. It wasn’t much, but I had hoped it would make her smile.
“What’s this?” she asked, her voice softer now.
“It’s real,” I said. “You deserve a little luck.”