My flashy neighbor thought she could con a struggling single mom with a junk car, but when I found her hidden stash, the tables turned. Karma didn’t just knock—it roared.
I’m Tessa, 31, a widowed mom of two. After my van died, my neighbor Gina sold me a “perfect” sedan for my last $2,500. When it broke down, I uncovered her scam—and something she never meant to leave behind.
Three years ago, my husband Mark died in a crash, leaving me and our kids, Lily and Noah, reeling. I worked double shifts at a diner and cleaned offices at night, while Mom watched the kids. When my old van sputtered out in a parking lot, smoke billowing, I panicked. That’s when Gina swooped in.
“Tessa, bad luck?” she said, all designer sunglasses and smug grin. “I’ve got a Honda in my garage—my cousin used it lightly. Yours for $2,500, a neighbor’s deal!” Desperate, I met her at dawn. The car looked clean, started fine, and drove smoothly around the block. “Any issues?” I asked. Gina laughed. “Would I sell a lemon to a neighbor? It’s golden!”
I handed over my emergency savings, meant for Lily’s books and Noah’s sports gear. Gina grabbed the cash, chirping about her spa day. A day later, the car died on a hill, smoke pouring, Lily crying in the back. “Is it broken, Mommy?” Noah asked. I called a tow, heart sinking.
At Joe’s Garage, the mechanic, a gruff but kind veteran, shook his head. “Engine’s toast—oil pump’s been failing for months. They knew.” Repairs would cost $5,000, more than the car’s value. I confronted Gina, pounding on her door. She answered, sipping coffee, unbothered. “You knew it was junk!” I said. She shrugged. “You drove it, paid cash. No refunds, sweetie.” The door slammed.
That night, cleaning out the car at Joe’s, I found a leather pouch under the seat. Inside: $8,000 in cash, a note labeled “Gina,” and pawn receipts. My jaw dropped—it was her money, forgotten in her scam. I grinned, tucking it away.
Gina stormed over hours later, frantic. “Find a bag in the car? It’s got… personal stuff.” I played dumb. “Personal? Like when you ignored my pleas yesterday?” Her face paled when I mentioned the cash. “That’s not yours!” she snapped. I smiled. “You said ‘no refunds’—guess that applies to you too.” I shut my door as she sputtered.
By morning, Gina’s house was dark, her car gone. Joe called later. “Sold the Honda for parts—covers your tow and $300 extra. My buddy has a solid Chevy for cheap. Interested?” Weeks later, I drove Lily and Noah to school in that Chevy, my savings restored. Gina’s lawn sprouted a “For Sale” sign. “Why’d Gina leave?” Lily asked. “Bad choices, honey,” I said, catching my smile in the mirror. Sometimes, the universe delivers justice with a wink.
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