As she stared into his deep brown eyes, she heard, “but if you really loved me, you would help this one last time.” She knows she does love him, but she also knows she can’t help. Not even one more time. He would only use the money to get drunk again. To help would be to allow more pain and damage and eventually the damage can’t be repaired.
That is the all too common struggle of the family of the alcoholic, drug addict, gambler, chronic liar, thief, betrayer, manipulator, etc. Why does loving someone sometimes mean such pain? Where is the line between toleration of others and you’ve gone too far? Continue reading