04/09/2025
I’m 35 (F), and my home is my greatest achievement. It took me over a decade of saving to afford the down payment, and when it finally became mine, I turned it into my sanctuary: roses blooming in the yard, a pristine lawn, a white pergola perfect for morning coffee. I had just finished the renovations—fresh paint, new furniture, every detail exactly how I wanted.
Then, a few days before my nephew Jason’s birthday, my sister Lisa called late at night, her tone sharp:
“Anna, we’re throwing Jason’s party at YOUR house! The halls are booked or overpriced, and my place is too small. YOU DON’T MIND, RIGHT?? It’s Jason’s big day—you won’t say no!”
I hesitated. “Lisa… I’ll be out of town on a two-day business trip. We could do it when I’m back…”
She snapped, “No! It HAS to be on the day—he’s been counting down for months. JUST LEAVE ME THE KEYS!”
I pictured Jason’s excitement… and reluctantly handed her the keys.
Two days later, I returned home—and froze.
The front door was wide open. The smell hit first: sour juice, greasy food, stale frosting. My carpet ruined, cookies crushed into the sofa, sticky fingerprints smeared across the walls. Trash overflowing in the kitchen.
Outside? My roses ripped out, the lawn churned to mud, my pergola smeared with frosting like a cruel joke.
With shaking hands, I called Lisa.
“Lisa, how could you do this? I just finished the renovation—”
She cut me off, annoyed. “Oh, don’t start. It’s just a little mess. SO WHAT?”
“But… why would you do this?”
“STOP BEING DRAMATIC! Don’t be selfish!”
I hung up, too furious to speak.
Repairs and cleaning cost me thousands. When I asked Lisa to help, she laughed it off, claiming it “wasn’t that bad.”
But karma was already waiting. Two months later, my phone rang—it was Lisa. I answered, and her voice was a full-blown scream:
“IT WAS YOU, WASN’T IT?! YOU DID THIS TO ME?!” ⬇️⬇️⬇️