My sister sold me her old car for almost nothing. It was barely drivable—flat tires, rust everywhere, and an interior that smelled abandoned. Still, I needed a car for university and knew I could fix it, so I took on the project. Over several months, I poured in time, effort, and about $5,000 of my savings. By the end, the car ran smoothly and felt like something I’d truly earned.
Then one morning, my sister showed up furious and demanded the car back. Her husband’s car had broken down, and she claimed the vehicle was still legally hers since the title hadn’t been transferred. I couldn’t believe it. She’d watched me restore it and now wanted it back out of convenience.
Our parents sided with her, telling me to let it go “because family.” Instead, I gathered every receipt for the repairs and calmly told her she could have the car—if she reimbursed me for the $5,000 I’d spent. She refused.
So she didn’t get the car.
Her husband fixed his own, and I kept driving mine to university—rebuilt, reliable, and undeniably mine.