Karma Hit Back

When my parents demanded rent for the basement I’d turned into a haven, they never expected it would lead to my escape and their ultimate regret.

I’d always felt like the black sheep of the family. The difference in treatment between me and my younger brother, Daniel, was evident.

When I was 17, we moved to a two-bedroom house, and my parents decided Daniel needed his own room. Instead of sharing like siblings usually do, they moved me to the unfinished basement.

Meanwhile, Daniel got a spacious room upstairs, with new furnishings and even a gaming setup. All I got were odds and ends from the garage.

I remember the day they unveiled my new “room.”

Mom gestured around the desolate space like it was a prize. “Elena, honey, isn’t this exciting? You’ll have so much space down here!”

I eyed the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs, and the lingering musty smell. “Yeah, Mom. Super exciting.”

Dad patted my shoulder encouragingly. “That’s the spirit, kiddo! We might even fix it up later, huh?”

Later never came, of course. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I got a job at the local grocery store after school, which wasn’t glamorous, but every paycheck helped me transform the basement.

Aunt Teresa was my only ally. She understood what my home life was like and stepped in to help. She visited on weekends, bringing paintbrushes and enthusiasm.

“Alright, Ellie-girl,” she’d say, tying back her curls. “Let’s make this place shine!”

We started by painting the drab walls a soothing lavender. Next were curtains for the tiny windows, rugs for the cold floor, and string lights to chase away the darkness.

It took months, but eventually, the basement became a reflection of me. I hung posters of my favorite bands, filled shelves with books, and snagged a secondhand desk for studying.

The day I added LED lights around my bed, I stood back and felt a warm glow of pride.

But then, I heard footsteps. My parents and Daniel came down the stairs.

“Well, well,” Dad said, eyeing the room. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

I expected at least a little praise. Instead, Mom frowned.

“Elena, if you have money for all this,” she gestured at my space, “then you can start contributing to the household.”

“What?” I was shocked.

“That’s right,” Dad chimed in. “We think it’s time you started paying rent.”

I was speechless. “Rent? I’m 17 and still in high school!”

“And clearly making enough to redecorate,” Mom countered. “It’s time you learned some financial responsibility.”

I wanted to scream. Daniel had a fully furnished room on their expense, yet they never asked him to chip in. It was so unfair.

But I knew better than to argue. “Fine. How much?” I asked.

The figure they named crushed my college savings plan. It was possible but meant sacrificing my future goals.

As if adding salt to the wound, Daniel came bounding down the stairs right then. He looked around and said, “Whoa, sis. Nice cave.”

His eyes landed on my LED lights. “Hey, are these strong?” he asked before pulling them. The lights fell, stripping paint.

“Daniel!” I yelled as my parents rushed to comfort him.

“Boys will be boys,” Dad laughed, ignoring my hard work.

So there I was, standing in my dim basement, my efforts seemingly worthless. It hurt more than just the broken lights—it was about always being the afterthought.

But karma, as they say, is mysterious.

Weeks later, my parents invited Aunt Teresa over for dinner along with a woman named Ava, an interior designer.

During dinner, Aunt Teresa mentioned my basement project. Everyone’s attention turned to me.

Ava was curious. “I’d love to see it. Mind giving me a tour?”

Despite my parents’ reluctance, I led Ava to my lair. Her eyes widened.

“Elena, this is incredible. Did you do all this yourself?”

“Mostly,” I replied, feeling shy but proud.

Ava admired my work. “You have an eye for design. We have an internship at my firm, usually for college students,” she said. “Are you interested?”

“Absolutely,” I exclaimed, hardly believing my ears.

Ava offered me a paid internship and a chance at a scholarship if I pursued design at college.

“Yes! A thousand times, yes!” I cried, elated.

Ava smiled warmly. “Great! I’ll call you with the details.”

My parents watched in stunned silence as pace was set for me, not Daniel this time.

The internship changed everything. I found direction, purpose, and realized I was valued.

I threw myself into learning all I could about design, stayed late, and soaked up knowledge.

At home, my parents’ attitude changed. They stopped asking for rent and showed interest in what I was doing.

“So, uh, how’s that design thing?” Dad would ask, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s great,” I’d reply, with a little smugness. “I’m learning a lot.”

Daniel complained, “Why does Elena get an internship and not me?”

Mom consoled him, “You’re younger. You’ll get one too.”

As the academic year passed, I worked on my college portfolio. Ava was an outstanding mentor, guiding my choices.

“You’ve got a real talent, Elena,” she praised, her mentorship invaluable. “These schools would be lucky to have you.”

Her encouragement inspired me. I applied to top programs, including Ava’s alma mater.

Waiting was nerve-wracking, but one day, it happened. I got the envelope.

“Dear Elena, We are pleased to offer you admission…” I read in disbelief. I’d been given a full ride!

“I got in. Full ride,” I announced, tears brimming.

My mom went silent, unable to congratulate me.

Dad said nothing, and Daniel sulked.

Yet, their sourness was insignificant now. I celebrated with those who truly supported me.

I redecorated my life, filling it with vibrant colors and the supportive family I’d built around me.