You ever feel like life waits until you’re already down… then kicks you one more time for good measure? That was me—flat broke, exhausted, and trying to hold it all together as a single mom. And that’s when my neighbor Cheryl decided to make things worse by scamming me.
She tricked me into buying her broken-down car. Thought she could get away with stealing what little money I had left. But the universe? Oh, it had other plans for her.
Three years ago, I lost everything when my husband Dan died in a terrible crash on Highway 52. One moment we were planning a beach trip with the kids, and the next, I was a 30-year-old widow staring at a mountain of bills and no idea how to keep our lives from falling apart.
To survive, I worked double shifts—serving breakfast at Mel’s Diner in the mornings and cleaning office buildings at night. My sweet mom stayed with Dora and Ethan while I worked. I missed bedtime stories, hugs, and school plays… but I had no choice.
Then last Tuesday, my old minivan finally gave out in the grocery store parking lot. Black smoke poured out from under the hood, the engine let out this awful grinding scream, and it died for good right there.
I sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel, fighting back tears. That van was on its last leg, but I still needed it. And now? It was another bill I couldn’t pay.
That’s when I heard the click-clack of high heels. Cheryl.
She strolled over like she owned the world—gold bangles jangling, lips painted bright red, perfume so thick I could taste it.
“April, honey!” she said, flipping her hair. “Car trouble?”
I quickly wiped my eyes. “Yeah. I think it finally gave up.”
She smirked and looked at her nails like they were more interesting than my situation. “Well, today might be your lucky day. I’ve got a Toyota just sitting in my garage. Barely used. My nephew Tommy drove it for six months before he moved to California.”
My heart jumped. “Seriously? How much?”
“Normally three grand,” she said with a fake-sweet smile. “But since we’re neighbors… how about $2,500? That’s practically a steal!”
She even made it sound like she was doing me a favor.
The next morning—7 a.m. sharp—she had me come look at it. Who schedules a car sale before sunrise unless they’ve got something to hide?
“Sorry it’s early,” she chirped, not sorry at all. “Yoga at nine, then brunch with Marcus. He’s so divine—taking me to that new place downtown.”
The silver Toyota looked fine. Clean. Not a scratch. I turned the key. It started right up.
“Purrs like a kitten,” Cheryl bragged, hopping into the passenger seat. “Tommy kept it in top shape. Oil changes every three months. Not a thing wrong with it!”
We drove around the block. Radio worked. A/C blew cold. Brakes felt good. I’m no mechanic, but everything seemed okay.
“Any problems I should know about?” I asked.
She laughed that fake, tinkling laugh that made my skin crawl. “Sweetie, if there were problems, would I sell it to you at such a deal? That car’s got years left.”
I handed her $2,500 in crisp bills—money I’d scraped together from my emergency stash meant for school supplies and Ethan’s soccer cleats. Cheryl snatched the cash like a hawk.
“Pleasure doing business,” she said, giving me a wink. “You’re gonna love this car.”
Exactly one day later, I was stuck on the side of Clover Hill with smoke pouring out of the hood, hazard lights blinking, and Dora crying in the backseat.
“Mommy, is the car broken again?” Ethan asked, his voice shaky.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said as I called for a tow truck. My hands were shaking. Inside, I was panicking.
At Murphy’s Auto Shop, Frank the mechanic popped the hood, took one look, and let out a low whistle.
“Ma’am, I hate to say it,” he said, “but this engine is completely fried. Seized up tighter than a drum. Whoever sold it to you knew exactly what they were doing.”
My stomach turned. “You’re sure?”
“See these metal shavings?” He held up a dipstick covered in sparkly black goo. “The oil pump’s been failing for months. This engine was on its way out a long time ago.”
“How much to fix it?”
He sighed. “Four, maybe five grand. More than the car’s worth.”
I felt sick. “Are you absolutely sure?”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “Been doing this 27 years. I’ve never been more sure.”
I dropped off the kids at school, still trying to keep it together. But after they ran inside, I marched straight to Cheryl’s house.
Her lawn was perfect, her wind chimes jingling like they were mocking me. I pounded on her door.
She answered in a silk robe, holding a mimosa.
“April! To what do I owe the early visit?” she chirped.
“You knew that car was junk,” I snapped. “You scammed me. My mechanic said it’s been breaking down for months!”
She didn’t even blink. “Sweetheart, you drove it. You paid cash. No warranties, no refunds. That’s how it works.”
“Cheryl, please. That was my emergency fund. My kids—”
She slammed the door in my face.
That night, after my shift, I went back to Murphy’s to clean out the car. Frank met me in the lot.
“I’m real sorry,” he said as he handed me the keys. “Some folks have no conscience.”
I grabbed the kids’ stuff—Ethan’s soccer cleats, Dora’s coloring books—when Frank called out, “Hey, April? Don’t forget to check under the seats. People leave all kinds of stuff.”
Something in his voice made me pause. I reached under the driver’s seat and felt something soft. A brown leather bag.
I unzipped it—and gasped. Inside was a fat stack of $100 bills.
I counted twice. Seven thousand dollars.
There was also an envelope with “Cheryl” written on it in messy handwriting, and a few pawn shop receipts.
My heart raced. This wasn’t just forgotten money. It was Cheryl’s money—probably part of some shady deal she was trying to hide.
I rushed home in a cab, heart pounding. As I was unloading groceries, I heard those familiar heels clicking on the pavement.
“April!” Cheryl yelled, rushing across the street. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“What’s going on, Cheryl?” I asked calmly.
“When you cleaned the car, did you find a leather bag? Small, brown, zipped?”
“A bag? Hmm. You mean something sentimental?”
She blinked. “Yes. Sentimental.”
I smiled sweetly. “Funny how you didn’t care about my losses when you sold me a broken car.”
“Look, just give me the bag, and I’ll forget everything. No hard feelings.”
“You mean the one with seven grand in cash?”
Her face went pale. “That money’s not yours!”
I picked up my groceries and walked to the door. “You’re right. Let me remember what you told me: ‘No warranties. No refunds.’ Right?”
Then I closed and locked the door.
From my window, I watched her panic—pacing her lawn, yelling into her phone.
Later that night, my phone rang.
“April,” her voice trembled. “We need to talk. That money isn’t mine. It belongs to dangerous people. If it’s missing, they’ll come after me.”
I laughed. “You sold me a lemon, slammed the door in my face, and now want me to save you?”
“Please, April. You don’t understand—”
“No, I understand perfectly. You tried to cheat the wrong person. And karma finally caught up.”
I hung up. Then blocked her number.
The next morning, her house was dark. No car. Newspapers piling up. Cheryl was gone.
That afternoon, Frank called. “April? Found someone who wants the Toyota for parts. Covers the tow and a few hundred for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Frank.”
“Oh, and Mr. Martinez down the road—he’s selling a used Honda. Honest guy, fair price. Want his number?”
Three weeks later, I was driving a sturdy little Honda, emergency fund full, and kids smiling in the backseat.
“Mommy,” Dora asked, “why doesn’t Miss Cheryl live there anymore?”
I glanced at the “For Sale” sign on Cheryl’s perfect lawn.
“Sometimes, sweetie,” I said, “people have to move when they make bad choices.”
“Like Joey got suspended for cheating?” Ethan asked.
“Exactly like that.”
As we pulled into the school lot, I caught my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long while… I smiled. A real one.
Because sometimes the universe doesn’t whisper. Sometimes it shouts. And when karma comes? She kicks down the door and makes damn sure you hear her coming.