I’d saved for over a year. Every extra shift, every skipped indulgence, every dollar tucked away was for one thing: a new TV. Not just any TV—one I could finally afford, one that made my tiny apartment feel like home. When it arrived, I was proud. It wasn’t just a screen—it was proof that I could build something for myself.
Then came my stepmom.
She’d always had a way of making things about her. When she saw the TV, her eyes narrowed. “Must be nice,” she said. “I’ve been asking for one for months.” I explained gently that we couldn’t afford to buy her one too. Money was tight. She scoffed, muttered something about “selfish kids,” and stormed off.
The next day, I came home to shattered glass and silence. My new TV—cracked, ruined. She claimed it was an accident. “I tripped,” she said. But the guilt in her eyes told another story. She thought she’d taught me a lesson. She thought she’d punished me for saying no.
But karma listens.
A month later, her own television short-circuited during a storm. Insurance wouldn’t cover it. Then her car broke down. Then she lost a side job she’d been counting on. One thing after another, like dominoes falling. She came to me again, asking for help. But this time, I didn’t cave.
I offered kindness, not cash. I reminded her that respect goes both ways. That breaking something out of spite doesn’t earn sympathy—it earns consequences.
Now, my living room holds a new TV again. I saved up, slowly, quietly. And this time, it feels even better. Because I didn’t just replace a screen—I reclaimed my peace.
