I’ve always been the “responsible one,” saving while others gambled on luck. Buying Rosie, my cherry-red car, was my first real gift to myself—a symbol of independence and years of sacrifice.
But when my sister Melissa guilt-tripped me into lending Rosie for my niece’s birthday, she returned her filthy, scratched, and trashed. The $4,500 repair bill was mine alone, and Melissa never offered a dime—only a smirk.
I stopped answering her calls, knowing she’d twist the blame. Then karma hit—her own car broke down with repairs she couldn’t afford. She stormed to my door, accusing me of sabotage. I just shook my head: “That’s not me, Melissa. That’s the universe.”
For once, I didn’t cave. Rosie is fixed, my peace restored, and Melissa was left to face her own mess without me. It wasn’t revenge—it was balance. And in that balance, I found freedom.
