My sister sold me her old car for almost nothing. It was barely drivable—flat tires, rusted body, filthy interior—but I needed transportation for university and knew how to fix cars. Over several months, I spent nearly every weekend rebuilding it and put about $5,000 of my savings into repairs. By the end, it ran perfectly and felt like something I’d truly earned.
Then one morning, my sister showed up unannounced and demanded the car back. Her husband’s car had broken down, and she claimed the car was still legally hers since the title was never transferred.
I was stunned. She’d watched me pour time and money into it. When I called our parents, they sided with her and told me to “just let it go.”
So I gathered every receipt for the repairs and handed them to her.
“You can have the car,” I said calmly, “as soon as you reimburse me for the $5,000 I spent fixing it.”
She refused.
The car stayed with me, her husband fixed his own, and I still drive the vehicle I rebuilt—on my terms.