You ever have one of those days where life doesn’t just knock you down—it stomps on you for good measure? That’s exactly what happened to me. I’m a broke, exhausted single mom, and my flashy, scheming neighbor Cheryl thought she could outsmart me. She sold me a busted car and planned to walk away with my hard-earned money. But guess what? The universe had a different idea.
Three years ago, my whole life flipped upside down. My husband Dan was killed in a horrible crash on Highway 52. One moment, we were planning a summer vacation with the kids. The next, I was a 30-year-old widow with two children, drowning in grief and bills.
To survive, I started working two jobs—waiting tables at Mel’s Diner during the day and cleaning office buildings at night. My amazing mom stepped in to watch my kids, Dora and Ethan. Without her, I wouldn’t have made it this far.
Then, last Tuesday, disaster struck again. My old, beat-up minivan gave out in the grocery store parking lot. It coughed out black smoke, made a horrible grinding noise, and died right there with a dramatic final groan.
I sat behind the wheel, tears burning my eyes. I knew exactly what that meant—another huge expense I couldn’t afford.
That’s when Cheryl appeared.
Click, click, click—her designer heels echoed across the parking lot like she was walking a red carpet. She always looked like she stepped out of a magazine cover—perfect makeup, gold jewelry, and a smug smile plastered on her face.
“April, honey!” she called, waving like we were old friends. “Car trouble?”
I quickly wiped my face. “Yeah. Looks like it finally gave up.”
Cheryl looked at her manicured nails like she wasn’t even listening. Then she smiled. “You know what? This might just be your lucky day. I’ve got this little Toyota just sitting in my garage. Barely used. My nephew Tommy drove it for six months before he moved to California.”
My heart jumped with hope. “Really? How much are you asking?”
“Well,” she said sweetly, “I’d normally ask three grand, but since we’re neighbors… $2,500. It’s practically a gift!”
I should’ve known better when she told me to meet her at 7 a.m. the next morning. Who does car sales at the crack of dawn?
“Sorry it’s early,” she said as she greeted me, sipping a green smoothie and tossing her hair. “I’ve got yoga at nine, then brunch with Marcus. He’s taking me to that trendy place downtown.”
The Toyota was silver, shiny, and looked pretty harmless. I turned the key—it started up like a charm.
“Purrs like a kitten!” Cheryl beamed, sliding into the passenger seat. “Tommy was religious with maintenance. Oil changed every three months!”
We drove around the block. The radio worked, AC blew cold, brakes felt fine. I’m not a mechanic, but it seemed okay.
“Any issues I should know about?” I asked.
She let out a musical little laugh. “Honey, if there were, do you think I’d be offering it to you for a steal?”
I handed her twenty-five $100 bills—money I had scraped together over months. It was meant for Dora’s school supplies and Ethan’s soccer cleats. She took it without a second thought.
“Pleasure doing business with you, April. You’re gonna love this car.”
Twenty-four hours later, I was stranded on the side of Clover Hill with smoke pouring from under the hood. Dora was crying, and Ethan looked scared in the backseat.
“Mommy, is the car broken?” he whispered.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm as I called a tow truck. “We’ll figure it out.”
At Murphy’s Auto Shop, Frank—an older, kind-eyed mechanic—lifted the hood and immediately let out a long whistle.
“Ma’am, I hate to say it, but this engine’s toast. Locked up tight. Whoever sold it to you knew it was dying.”
I stared at him. “Are you sure?”
Frank nodded grimly. “See these metal shavings? The oil pump’s been failing for a while. This wasn’t sudden. It was a slow death.”
“How much to fix it?”
“Four to five grand. Minimum.”
I felt like I might throw up. “You’re sure there’s no way this was just… bad luck?”
Frank shook his head. “April, I’ve been doing this 27 years. You got taken.”
I got the kids to school in a cab, then marched straight to Cheryl’s perfect house. Her wind chimes jingled mockingly as I banged on her front door.
She opened it in a silk robe, holding a mimosa like she was in a spa.
“April! What brings you by?”
“Cut the act. You knew that car was garbage.”
She blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It ran fine yesterday.”
“Frank says it’s been failing for months! You scammed me, Cheryl.”
She shrugged, cool as ever. “Sweetie, you test drove it. You paid cash. No warranty, no refund. That’s how it works.”
“Please. I’m a single mom. That was my emergency fund.”
She gave me a fake sympathetic look and slammed the door in my face.
That night after work, I went back to Murphy’s to clean out the car. Frank was there, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he said, handing me the keys. “People can be real heartless.”
As I cleaned, Frank called out, “Hey, April! Don’t forget to check under the seats. You’d be shocked what folks leave behind.”
I reached under the driver’s seat and felt something soft—leather.
It was a small zipped bag I’d never seen before. My heart raced as I opened it.
Inside: a stack of hundred-dollar bills. I counted. Twice.
$7,000.
There was also a note: an envelope with “Cheryl” scribbled on it and a few pawn shop receipts.
I gasped. Cheryl had forgotten her own hidden stash—in the same car she tricked me into buying.
I took a cab home, grinning the whole ride.
Next afternoon, as I unloaded groceries, I heard that familiar high-heeled stomp. Cheryl stormed across the street, panic written all over her face.
“April!” she snapped. “Did you, uh, happen to find a brown leather bag in the car?”
I blinked innocently. “A bag?”
“Yes! Sentimental stuff. Old photos. Personal notes. That kind of thing.”
I tilted my head. “Funny. When I asked you to refund my money, you didn’t seem too sentimental.”
“Look,” she said, dropping the act, “just give it back, and we can forget the whole car thing.”
“Oh, you mean the one with seven thousand dollars in it?” I said, smiling sweetly.
Her face turned pale. “That’s not yours!”
I calmly picked up my groceries. “You’re right. Let me remind you what you told me: ‘No warranty, no returns.’ Isn’t that how it works in the real world?”
I stepped inside and shut the door.
Through the window, I watched Cheryl pacing, phone pressed to her ear, yelling into it like a woman on the edge.
An hour later, my phone rang—unknown number.
“April, this is Cheryl. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“That money isn’t mine. It belongs to some serious people. Dangerous people.”
I laughed. “So you scammed me, slammed the door in my face, and now you want help? You really thought that would work?”
“Please, April. You don’t understand—”
“No, Cheryl. You don’t understand. You messed with the wrong mom.”
I hung up and blocked her number.
The next morning, her house was dark. No sign of her car. A few days later, a For Sale sign popped up on her lawn. Her fancy decorations started to sag, and no one had seen Cheryl since.
Then I got a call from Frank.
“April! Found a guy who wants the Toyota for parts. Won’t be much, but it’ll cover the tow bill and maybe give you a couple hundred.”
“Frank, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Oh—and I got wind that Martinez over in Westdale’s selling a good Honda. Honest seller. Want me to pass your number?”
Three weeks later, I was driving a solid, dependable Honda. My emergency fund had money again, and life felt… steady. Good.
That morning, as I dropped the kids at school, Dora piped up from the backseat.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Miss Cheryl live across the street anymore?”
I glanced at Cheryl’s empty house. “Sometimes, sweetheart, people have to move when they make bad choices.”
“Like when Joey got suspended for cheating?”
“Exactly like that.”
I caught my reflection in the mirror—and for the first time in a long while, I was smiling. A real smile.
Because sometimes, when the world kicks you down… karma kicks back harder.
