Karma Slept Beside Me
I raised my grandson from the day he was born. I gave him every bit of love I had, every dollar I could spare, every piece of my heart. I thought of him not as a grandson but as my own son. So when he invited me on a weekend trip, I thought it was his way of saying thank you — a sweet gesture of gratitude after all these years.
I had no idea that trip would end with me sleeping on a floor while karma quietly waited to give my grandson the lesson of his life.
At 87 years old, I thought I’d seen it all — wars, loss, heartbreak, and even two strokes that left half my face numb for weeks. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared me for the betrayal that came from the boy I once rocked to sleep.
My grandson, Tyler, came into this world on a stormy spring night. His mother — my dear Marianne, my only daughter — died giving birth to him. And his father, Daniel, couldn’t handle the grief. He packed up and left a month later.
The last I ever heard of him, he was living in some trailer park in Nevada, drinking away his guilt.
So, it was me. Just me and this baby.
I was the one who got up at two in the morning to feed him, who held him when he cried with colic, and who walked him to kindergarten with his tiny backpack bouncing on his shoulders. I still remember him turning to me, grinning with that missing front tooth, and shouting, “Bye, Grandma! Love you big as the sky!”
That little boy was my world.
I worked long, early hours as a baker just to make ends meet. And when I finally retired, my pension went straight to keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table for both of us.
But somewhere along the way, the sweet boy I raised became a man I barely recognized.
Now, at 32, Tyler still lives with me — not out of love or duty, but because it’s easy.
He always shrugs and says, “Why should I waste money on rent when you’ve got this big house, Grandma? It’s not like you need all this space.”
Every time he says that, I have to bite my tongue. He talks like he’s doing me a favor by staying here, when he doesn’t even help with the groceries or electricity bills.
And lately, he’s been putting on this whole spiritual guru act. He calls himself “awakened.” I call it lazy.
Every morning at dawn, I’d wake up to the sound of his deep chanting echoing through the house. “Ommmmm… feel the energy, release the blocks…”
He turned my living room — where I used to watch my morning shows — into a yoga studio filled with incense smoke and half-burnt candles.
Books about “raising vibrations” and “healing energies” covered every surface. To outsiders, he probably looked like some peaceful, enlightened man. But to me, who saw the dirty dishes he never washed and the job applications he never filled out, it was just an act.
And don’t even get me started on his so-called “spiritual friends.” They’d come at all hours, whispering about investments, energy circles, and business opportunities that sounded more like scams than anything holy.
So when Tyler came up to me three weeks ago with a big smile and said,
“Grandma, Willow and I want to take a little weekend getaway to Charleston — and we want you to come too!”
I nearly dropped my cup of tea.
Willow was his latest girlfriend — a thin young woman with crystals hanging from her ears and eyes that always looked half-asleep. She talked in a sing-song tone, like she was always meditating mid-sentence.
I frowned. “Why would you want me tagging along?”
He grinned, flashing the same charming smile that used to melt my heart when he was seven. “Because I love you, Grandma. And besides, it’ll be way cheaper if we travel together. Split the costs, you know? Make it affordable for everyone.”
Ah. Cheaper.
That word told me everything. But I ignored my instincts. I wanted so badly to spend time with him — to feel like family again — that I said yes.
I packed my small suitcase, made sure I had my medications, my comfortable shoes, and the soft blue cardigan Marianne had given me before she passed. Maybe this trip could bring us closer again, I thought.
The drive to Charleston took four hours. We laughed a little, listened to Tyler’s strange music — all humming and bells — and I almost let myself believe things were getting better.
Until we arrived.
Instead of pulling up to a hotel, Tyler stopped in front of a rundown apartment building in a rough-looking neighborhood. Paint was peeling from the walls, and the front door had a crack running through it.
“This is where we’re staying?” I asked, clutching my purse tighter.
“Yeah,” he said cheerfully. “It belongs to one of my spiritual brothers. He’s letting us crash here for free. Way better than wasting money on a corporate hotel, right?”
Inside, the place smelled like incense and old socks. Crystals, ashtrays, and strange tapestries covered the tables and walls. I swallowed my disappointment.
“Just for the weekend, Grandma,” Tyler said when he saw my face. “Hotels are a total waste of money. This is authentic living.”
There were two bedrooms. Tyler and Willow immediately took one. When I peeked inside, I saw a big bed in the middle and a smaller single bed by the window. Relief washed over me.
“Oh, good,” I said. “I can take that little bed by the window.”
But Tyler’s face changed. “Uh, no, Grandma. That won’t work. Willow and I need our energy protected during sleep. You know, with smells and snoring and… stuff.”
I stared at him. “Smells and snoring?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he grabbed a thin yoga mat from the hallway closet, unrolled it right there on the floor, and said with a smile, “Here you go. You’ll be totally fine, Grandma. Sleeping on the floor is great for your back! It’s spiritual grounding.”
I couldn’t believe it. My heart hurt so badly I thought it might stop. I’d raised this boy, loved him, sacrificed for him — and now, at 87, with arthritis and a bad back, he was making me sleep on the floor.
But I didn’t argue. I just nodded, lay down that night, and listened to their laughter behind the closed door.
By morning, I could barely move. My hip screamed in pain. When I finally managed to pull myself up using the wall, Tyler was scrolling on his phone.
“Come on, Grandma,” he said. “Get ready. We’re going out for brunch — my treat.”
I wanted to believe that was his way of making up for last night. But fate had other plans.
We stopped at a gas station on the way to brunch. Tyler went inside to grab coffee while I stayed in the car, massaging my aching hip.
A few minutes later, two men in suits crossed the parking lot, walking straight toward the door. When Tyler came out with two coffee cups, they blocked his path.
“Tyler?” one of them asked, flashing a badge.
“Uh, yeah?”
“You’re under arrest for wire fraud and identity theft.”
I gasped. “What?! There must be some mistake!”
The officers turned him around, handcuffed him, and read him his rights while the coffee spilled onto the pavement.
Tyler looked at me in panic. “Grandma! Tell them I’m innocent! Tell them you know me!”
But the truth came out fast. Tyler had been running scams — fake “spiritual retreats,” fake “investment circles,” stealing from vulnerable people. And the worst part?
He had used my name, my credit, my Social Security number to open accounts for his crimes.
The boy I’d raised had stolen my identity.
And Willow? The second they cuffed him, she grabbed her bag, called a rideshare, and disappeared without looking back.
At the police station, I sat for hours answering questions, signing forms, freezing fraudulent accounts. My hands shook the whole time.
Finally, they let me see him. Tyler sat behind a plexiglass wall in an orange jumpsuit, his charm gone.
He picked up the phone and said, “Grandma, listen. You just have to tell them you gave me permission to use your name. Say you knew about it. They’ll go easier on me. You owe me this much.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “Owe you?”
He smirked. “Yeah. I let you live in your own house rent-free, didn’t I? I could’ve put you in a home, Grandma. You should be grateful.”
That did it. My heart hardened.
“You let me live in my own house?” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “I worked for that house. I baked bread for forty years to buy it. You didn’t let me do anything.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Grandma—”
“No, Tyler,” I cut him off. “You made me sleep on the floor like trash. You stole my name, my money, and my trust. And now you want me to lie for you? No. I won’t do it.”
His smirk vanished. “Grandma, please—”
I put down the phone. “You need to face what you’ve done.”
That night, as I sat waiting for a ride home, one of the officers kept glancing at me. Finally, he approached.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said softly. “Are you… Eleanor? You used to run the bakery on Main Street?”
I blinked. “Yes. That was me. Long time ago.”
He smiled. “I knew it! I’m Officer Daniels. I used to come to your bakery with my mom when I was a kid. We couldn’t afford much, but you’d always give me an extra cookie and say it was ‘a day old and needed eating.’ I never forgot that.”
My eyes filled with tears. “You were that little boy?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. Now it’s my turn.”
He drove me home himself, carried my suitcase up the steps, and even fixed the loose lock on my front door. Before leaving, he said, “If you ever need anything, you call me. Alright?”
I stood there, watching his car disappear into the night, and finally smiled.
Because that’s when I understood — kindness never disappears. It circles back when you least expect it, right when your heart needs reminding that goodness still exists in this world.
And as for Tyler? He finally learned that no chant, no crystal, no fake energy can protect you from the truth.