When I agreed to fix my sister-in-law’s storm-damaged house, I thought I was just helping family. I didn’t expect to be left almost twenty grand in the hole—or to watch karma knock her flat in the most unexpected way.
I’m a 35-year-old dad living in Michigan. My wife, Sarah, and I have two little kids—our oldest is six, our youngest just turned three. Recently, I took a leap and started my own contracting business. My dream was simple: build something honest, work hard, and one day pass the business down to my boys.
But let me tell you, starting out has been brutal. Bills keep piling up. Credit cards stay maxed out. Materials, payroll, overhead—it all stacks higher than I imagined. To even compete, I’ve been undercharging, which means my family has been living on the bare minimum.
There were weeks I skipped meals just to make sure my guys got paid on time. My oldest needed sneakers for weeks, and we had to keep putting it off until I got paid on a couple invoices. That’s how tight things were.
Enter Tanya—my sister-in-law, Sarah’s younger sister.
Tanya has always been… different. The kind of person who always needs help but never has a penny when you ask her for it. She inherited a two-bedroom house from her grandmother, has no kids, no mortgage, no real responsibilities. Yet she plays the victim nonstop.
If you scrolled her Facebook, you’d see a post saying, “Some people don’t appreciate who was there for them,” right after another photo of her sipping a $7 latte while a homeless man appeared blurred in the background. That’s Tanya in a nutshell.
So when a massive spring hailstorm ripped through our neighborhood, Tanya was the first to call me.
Her voice over the phone was frantic:
“My roof is leaking! I’m seriously about to have a panic attack! The garage door won’t close, and my siding looks like a raccoon went psycho on it! I can’t live like this!”
I was exhausted that day, hoping to spend Saturday with my kids after finishing a small patio job. But family is family, so I told her I’d swing by.
When I pulled up, Tanya was pacing the yard with her phone in hand like she was waiting for lottery results. And the damage? It was real. Cracked shingles, loose siding, water pooling where it shouldn’t.
“Can you fix it?” she asked, grabbing my arm. Her eyes were wide with desperation. “Please, I’ll pay you back the minute the insurance check clears. I promise.”
I hesitated—because I knew it’d be a big job. But I also knew she’d have trouble getting a contractor fast.
“Alright,” I finally said. “I’ll help you out.”
She nearly burst into tears with relief. She even kissed my cheek and called me her “lifesaver.” For a few days, she played the sweet sister-in-law role perfectly—once she even brought cookies for my kids while I worked.
For the next three weeks, I basically lived at Tanya’s house.
My crew and I replaced the entire roof, using premium shingles so it wouldn’t happen again. We fixed her busted garage door, patched and repainted her siding, redid the window frames, and installed brand-new custom gutters that cost me more than I’d ever admit to Sarah.
It was backbreaking work in ninety-degree heat. I missed dinners with Sarah and bedtime stories with my kids. But Tanya kept calling me her “hero,” and I believed her when she promised she’d pay me back.
All the materials and labor? I covered out of pocket. No deposit. No contract. Just her word. By the end, the bill totaled $18,800—all charged to my credit cards.
She signed off on everything, and on June 6th I sent her the invoice.
“Just waiting on the check,” she texted. “The insurance check still hasn’t arrived.”
Okay, I thought. No big deal. I gave her time.
But July came. Then August. No payment.
When I called her, she said casually, “It’s the paperwork. Still waiting on it from the adjuster.”
Sarah wasn’t having it. “Why didn’t you get her to sign a contract?” she asked me, exasperated.
By September, I was drowning. Bills overdue. My crew expecting pay. And Tanya? She said, “Oh, they sent the check to the wrong address. Relax, I’ll let you know.”
I no longer believed a word she said.
Then one evening, a brand-new SUV rolled into our driveway. Chrome trim, leather seats, moonroof—the whole nine yards. My son watched from the porch while eating canned ravioli, because that’s what we could afford that week.
Out stepped Tanya, grinning like she was in a commercial.
“Tanya,” I said flatly, “did your insurance come through?”
She sipped her Starbucks and smiled. “Yeah, a couple weeks ago.”
My stomach sank. “So where’s my payment?”
She actually laughed. “Oh! I figured since you’re family and just starting out, this could be like… a portfolio piece? Exposure, you know? Don’t you already owe me for all the babysitting I did while you were working on my house? That counts, right?”
Babysitting? She meant the one time she sat with my kids for two hours while I fixed her front door so she could lock it at night.
Sarah’s face went pale with fury. “You’re joking,” she whispered.
Tanya just waved, smirking. “Well, I just came to show you my new car. Don’t be jealous.” Then she drove off.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, replaying her smug little laugh. I ran the numbers again—late on payroll, late on credit cards, my kids needing shoes for school. She’d tossed aside an $18,800 debt like it was nothing.
That’s when I decided she needed a lesson.
Tanya loved to brag about her “Pinterest-perfect” lifestyle—her charcuterie boards, candlelit patios, and boozy book club brunches. She was planning a huge housewarming party for her newly repaired home. Custom invitations, RSVP cards—the whole deal.
Perfect.
I called two of my crew and told them to stop by her place the day before the party for a “warranty check.” But their real job was different: speak loudly enough so guests could hear.
Sure enough, some of Tanya’s friends were dropping off things for the party. My guys smiled politely and said, “Would you like to upgrade any of the free services your brother-in-law generously donated out of kindness?”
They told me Tanya turned beet red.
But I wasn’t done.
That night, I made brochures. Before-and-after photos of her house, my company logo, my number—and one bold line across the bottom:
“Total unpaid balance: $18,800.”
Underneath: “Support local builders—especially the ones who show up for family.”
I printed thirty copies.
At her party, I quietly set the stack on the gift table. She saw me, but before she could react, guests arrived. I watched as people picked them up, whispered, passed them around. The stares started almost instantly.
I didn’t stay long. Just long enough.
The next morning, Tanya called, screaming, “You made me look like a scammer!”
I asked calmly, “Did you not lie about paying me?”
Silence.
Later she texted Sarah: “I thought it was a gift! You’re bullying me!”
Sarah’s reply was short: “Enjoy your SUV.”
And karma didn’t wait long.
A week later, Tanya’s shiny new SUV vanished. She’d parked it in front of our house, claiming she was “dropping off an apology card.” Our security cameras caught everything—the thief hotwiring her car and driving off like it was nothing.
Here’s the kicker: Tanya hadn’t bought comprehensive insurance. To save money, she skipped it. No payout. Just gone.
She begged us for the footage. I handed it straight to the police.
That was the last we really heard from Tanya. Most of her friends dropped her after the party. A couple of neighbors who were there actually called me for quotes. One of them said, “If you worked that hard for someone who didn’t even pay you, we know you’ll treat us right.”
And my son? He finally got his sneakers. Bright blue, with little lights in the soles. I cried when he put them on.
So yeah, Tanya got what was coming. And me? I got my reminder: kindness matters. Even when it costs more than you planned.