I kept staring at that fake ticket, feeling half relieved and half humiliated. Relief, because I hadn’t looked him in the eye and lied about money that never existed. Humiliation, because for a few electric minutes I had believed my entire life had changed, and it was all just a setup for a laugh.

By the time he came back around, I was ready. I told him I’d scratched it and it wasn’t a winner, watching his face for any sign of guilt or triumph. He just chuckled, like it was harmless fun. I smiled back, but inside I filed it away: who thinks someone’s hope is a good punchline? The money was never real, but the rush, the panic, the fragile hope—that was. And so was the quiet decision I made about the kind of people I’d ever trust again.