Who steals from their daughter? My stepmom did. She swiped $5K from my college fund for veneers. For a perfect Hollywood smile. But karma hit faster than a dental drill, leaving her with more regret than glam.
They say money can’t buy happiness, but my stepmom sure thought it could buy a million-dollar smile. The kicker? She stole from my college fund (which was set up by my late mom) to install her veneers and acted like it wasn’t a big deal. But don’t worry! Sit back, relax, and let me tell you about the day karma grew teeth and bit back.
A distressed teenage girl lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
I’m Kristen, your average 17-year-old with dreams bigger than my stepmom’s ego. My mom passed away when I was young, but she left behind a college fund. It wasn’t huge, but it was a start to secure my future.
My dad, Bob, and I had been adding to it ever since, mostly from my part-time gigs tutoring kids who think “Pi” is something you eat with ice cream. And some babysitting, which paid me weekly.
Everything went well until, ta-da — enter Tracy, my stepmother and the human embodiment of a selfie stick.
An elegant senior lady holding a glass of wine | Source: Pexels
This woman spends more time in front of the mirror than a mime pretending to be trapped in a box. I swear, if vanity were an Olympic sport, Tracy would make Narcissus look like an amateur.
She’s so obsessed with appearances. Her clothes, hair, and nails always have to be perfect. It’s like she’s trying to be a real-life Barbie. (Sorry, Barbie!)
She spends hours in front of the mirror but never has time for anything that really matters, like, oh I don’t know, being a decent human. It’s like she’s got a mirror installed in her brain.
A senior woman applying lipstick | Source: Pexels
One fateful day, I came home to find Tracy grinning like she’d just won the lottery.
“Kristen, darling!” she chirped, her voice sweeter than a hummingbird’s diet. “Guess what your amazing stepmom is going to do?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Finally learn how to use the washing machine without flooding the laundry room?”
A young girl crossing her arms | Source: Midjourney
Tracy’s smile faltered for a microsecond before returning full force. “No, silly! I’m getting veneers! Isn’t that fabulous?”
“Uh, congrats?” I muttered, wondering why this warranted a full-blown announcement.
“Oh, don’t look so glum!” she gushed. “This is cause for celebration! And the best part? I found a way to make it happen without breaking the bank.”
That’s when my stomach dropped faster than a skydiver with a faulty parachute. “What do you mean?”
A senior woman sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
Tracy’s smile widened like a Cheshire cat, except her teeth looked more like a set of construction cones dipped in mustard.
“Well, I borrowed a little from your college fund. Just $5,000!”
I stood there, mouth agape, feeling like I’d just been sucker-punched by the Tooth Fairy on steroids. “You did WHAT? You STOLE my college fund?”
Tracy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Stole? I’m family. It’s not a big deal, honey!”
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
“You had NO RIGHT! That money’s for my future. My mom set it up for me.”
“Oh, save the theatrics! It’s just money. And your father agreed to it,” Tracy winked.
Now, that was a lie bigger than her future dental bill. Dad wouldn’t agree to this in a million years. He’s more likely to willingly sit through a marathon of Tracy’s favorite reality TV shows.
A furious young girl frowning | Source: Midjourney
I stormed out, slamming my bedroom door hard enough to make the house shake. I immediately called Dad, who was just as shocked as I was.
“I’ll talk to her,” he promised. In Dad’s terms, that meant “I’ll mention it once and hope it magically resolves itself.”
A few weeks later, Tracy got her veneers. She strutted around the house like she was America’s Next Top Model, flashing her new teeth at every opportunity. It was like living with a deranged lighthouse.
A young lady talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, Kristen,” she cooed one evening, “don’t forget to smile at your little tutoring class. Although,” she paused, giving me a once-over, “maybe you should keep your mouth closed. You wouldn’t want to scare those kids away with those ugly alligator teeth of yours!”
I bit my tongue so hard I thought I might need veneers myself. “Right,” I muttered. “Because blowing five grand on fake choppers is totally normal, yeah?”
Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Missy. Remember who puts a roof over your head.”
“Pretty sure that’s still Dad,” I shot back, slamming the door behind me.
A closed door upstairs | Source: Pexels
A month after her “transformation,” Tracy decided to throw a BBQ to show off her new chompers to the entire neighborhood. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion but with more potato salad.
“Ladies, gather ’round!” Tracy announced on the fateful day, clinking her wine glass with a spoon. “I simply must tell you about my transformation!”
Yeah, more like a sci-fi metamorphosis from yellow-stained vampire fangs to a Hollywood smile! I rolled my eyes so hard I could practically see my brain.
A smiling senior woman holding a wine glass and bottle | Source: Pexels
“It’s all thanks to the marvelous Dr. Kapoor,” Tracy gushed. “He’s not just a dentist, he’s an artist! A smile sculptor! A tooth whisperer!”
“Did he whisper to your wallet too?” I muttered under my breath.
Tracy continued, oblivious to my sarcasm. “And of course, some smart investments made it all possible!”
I nearly choked on my lemonade. Smart investments? Is that what we’re calling theft these days?
Two elegantly dressed women laughing | Source: Pexels
Just then, Tracy set her wine glass down and reached for a piece of corn on the cob. “You know, ladies, life is all about taking chances and—”
C-R-A-C-K!
The sound echoed across the backyard like a gunshot. Tracy’s eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth faster than you could say “dental disaster.”
“Oh my God, Tracy! Are you okay?” one of her friends gasped.
But Tracy was far from okay. There, nestled in the butter of her corn on the cob, was one of her precious veneers and whatever was left of her rotten tooth. The gap in her smile was so big, it could swallow a whole lollipop!
Close-up of a shocked woman with a missing tooth | Source: Midjourney
“I… I…” Tracy stammered, suddenly sounding like she was auditioning for the role of Sylvester the Cat. “Ekthcuthe me!”
She bolted into the house, leaving behind a yard full of bewildered guests and one very satisfied stepdaughter trying desperately not to burst into maniacal laughter.
The aftermath was more glorious than I could have imagined. Tracy became a dental hermit, refusing to leave the house. When she finally called Dr. Kapoor, I overheard a conversation that was music to my ears and nails on a chalkboard to hers.
A young lady laughing | Source: Midjourney
“What do you mean it’ll cotht more to fikth?” Tracy shrieked into the phone. “Thith ith your fault! You thaid thethe were top quality!”
Turns out, Tracy had opted for the bargain basement veneers. The cherry on the cake? She would have to pay a hefty chunk to redo the whole veneer! Karma, as they say, is a witch with a capital B, and she had just given Tracy a dental spanking.
Dad, finally growing a backbone (I checked outside for flying pigs), confronted Tracy that evening.
“We need to talk about Kristen’s college fund,” he said, his voice firm (for the first time in a very looooong time! Way to go, Daddy!)
A senior man frowning | Source: Midjourney
Tracy, still hiding her broken smile behind her hand, tried to deflect. “Bob, honey, now’th not the thime. Can’t you thee I’m in a crithith?”
Dad stood his ground. “Crisis? You? No, Tracy. This ends now. You’re going to pay back every cent you took from Kristen’s fund. And if you can’t… well, I think we need to reevaluate this whole situation.”
For the first time since I’d known her, Tracy looked genuinely scared. It was like watching a deer in the headlights (if the deer had really bad dental work and a speech impediment!)
A serious-looking senior woman sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
In the weeks that followed, Tracy became a recluse that would make even the most solitary monk seem like a party animal.
The neighborhood buzzed with gossip about her “dental disaster,” and she couldn’t show her face without someone asking about her “million-dollar thmile.”
As for me? Well, Dad made good on his promise. He’s been working overtime to rebuild my college fund, and Tracy’s been suspiciously quiet about her spending habits.
Close-up of a man holding money | Source: Pexels
I guess it’s hard to argue when you sound like you’re trying to whistle through a mouthful of marbles.
The other day, I caught her staring longingly at a magazine ad for dental implants. I couldn’t resist the opportunity for a little payback.
“Hey, Tracy,” I called out, flashing her my perfectly imperfect “alligator-tooth” smile. “Need thome invethment advithe?”
She scowled and stomped off, but I swear I saw Dad trying to hide a smirk.
A young lady standing in a room | Source: Midjourney
So yeah, my stepmom stole $5,000 from my college fund for a set of fake teeth that made her sound like she was auditioning for the role of the Big Bad Wolf with a speech impediment. But in the end? Karma gave her something to really chew on…
And me? I learned that sometimes, the most valuable things in life aren’t the ones you can buy. They’re the lessons you learn along the way, and the satisfaction of watching justice being served, one broken veneer at a time.
A young lady lying in bed | Source: Midjourney
Plus, I now have enough material to write a bestselling memoir: From Fangs to Fortune: How My Stepmom’s Dental Disaster Saved My College Fund.” How is it?
And who knows? Maybe I’ll even dedicate it to Tracy. After all, without her, I wouldn’t have this toothsome tale to tell.
A young lady laughing | Source: Midjourney
My MIL Demanded $600 for Walking & Feeding Our Dog While I Was in Labor – I Agreed, but Only on One Condition
When I came home from the hospital with my newborn, I noticed a note on the table and assumed it was a kind message from my mother-in-law. Instead, it said she was charging us $600 for taking care of our dog while I was in labor. My husband promised to talk to her, but I had a better idea.
A few days before I went into labor, I was sprawled out on the couch, trying to manage the dull ache in my lower back that kept growing sharper by the minute.
A woman in her 30s, 9 months pregnant, sits on a couch looking worried and uncomfortable | Source: Midjourney
My golden retriever, Rich, rested his head on my lap, his big brown eyes watching me like he knew something was up. I scratched behind his ears, grateful for his calm presence.
“Jake!” I called my husband, my voice strained as another wave of discomfort rolled through me.
Jake was in the kitchen, stacking turkey and cheese onto a sandwich, his eyebrows crunched.
“Yeah, babe?” he replied, not even looking up.
A man in his 30s making a sandwich in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I sighed. “We need to figure out what to do about Rich while we’re at the hospital. Can we ask your mom to help out?”
We had a scheduled induction the following day because my baby was a week overdue, and I was ready to be done with this mess.
Jake walked over, sandwich in hand, and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stress, Doris. Mom loves Rich. She’ll handle it.”
A golden retriever in a home | Source: Pexels
That was my husband. He shrugged off almost anything with an easy solution. His optimism was one of the reasons I loved him, but I’m not going to lie, it was also one of the things that often grated on my nerves.
But that might just be a product of the hormones and my discomfort. “Alright,” I said, leaning back into the cushions. “Just make sure she knows it’s only for a couple of days.”
Later that night, Jake called Abigail, his mom, and explained the situation. She agreed without hesitation. He hung up, grinning. “She said she’s happy to help. Problem solved.”
A man holding a phone | Source: Pexels
I guessed that would have to be good enough for me.
Jake and I packed our hospital bag that evening, and the next morning, we said goodbye to Rich. By the door, I knelt to scratch his fluffy head.
“Be a good boy for Grandma, okay?” He wagged his tail like he understood.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abigail waved me off with a smile. “I just wish I could be at the hospital.”
A woman in her 60s waving goodbye in a living room with a smile | Source: Midjourney
That had been a slight issue. We had asked that our family not visit or accompany us to the hospital. My pregnancy had been rough enough, and I just needed my husband during labor.
If something went wrong, I didn’t want anyone else there either.
Abigail said she understood, but maybe she was still a bit salty about it.
“Mom, you know our wishes,” Jake intervened, smiling to take the sting out of his words.
“I know, I know,” she said. “You modern kids! Now, go have my grandchild.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” I said, and with that, we went out the door.
A pregnant woman in her 30s waving goodbye with a small smile | Source: Midjourney
***
I never got to be induced. My water broke just as we were entering the hospital… and honestly, we, women, need to talk about labor with each other and our daughters more often because this was hell.
I spent hours gripping the hospital bed rails like they were the only thing tethering me to reality. Between the contractions and the endless poking and prodding from nurses, I thought I might lose my mind.
Jake was by my side the whole time, holding my hand and trying his best to keep me calm, though he looked like he was one more contraction away from passing out himself.
A woman in her 30s in a hospital looking in pain while in labor | Source: Midjourney
But all the pain and the exhaustion melted away the moment they placed my son in my arms. He was tiny, wrinkly, and absolutely perfect.
Jake and I cried like idiots. It was a marvel that we’d brought this little person into the world. For three days, the hospital was our bubble of joy.
When we were finally allowed to go home, I felt relieved. We carefully carried our child through the hospital doors toward the parking lot.
A parking lot | Source: Pexels
Jake called Abigail to tell her we had been discharged, and she said she was going to give us a few days to get settled before meeting the baby. That was so kind of her!
As we pulled up to our driveway, I thought about settling on our couch and getting Rich to meet his new little brother. It was going to be perfect… yeah, no.
The first thing I noticed when we walked into the kitchen was a folded piece of paper on the table. My heart fluttered, thinking Abigail had left us a sweet “Welcome Home” note.
A folded piece of paper on a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
I carefully shifted the baby in my arms and opened it, already imagining something like “Congratulations on your new bundle of joy!”
Instead, the note read:
“You owe me $600 for feeding and walking Rich. My time costs money. You have my bank details.”
For a moment, I just stared at it, sure I was reading it wrong. But nope. It was real. My mother-in-law was demanding money for watching our dog.
It’s not that I didn’t want to pay for services like that, but she was family AND she never mentioned charging us.
A woman’s hand holding a piece of paper with a note | Source: Midjourney
“Jake,” I called, my voice sharp. He was in the living room, setting down the car seat. “You might want to come see this.”
He walked in, took one look at the note, and groaned. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” I said, waving the paper in his face. “Your mom’s demanding money for taking care of Rich while I was pushing your child out of my body.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, already looking defeated. “I’ll talk to her,” he muttered.
A man in his 30s looking exasperated, running his hand through his hair in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I snapped, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ll handle this.” My mind was already coming up with an idea, and it didn’t involve quietly paying up.
A week later, Abigail came over to see the baby. She strolled in with a big smile, kissed Jake’s cheek in greeting, and began cooing over my son like the most doting grandmother.
“Oh, he’s precious,” she said, cradling him in her arms. “He has Jake’s nose.”
A baby’s face | Source: Pexels
For a moment, I almost believed she was here just to see her grandson. But as she handed the baby back to me, she dropped the act.
“So,” she said, brushing her hands together. “When can I expect my money? I’ve waited long enough.”
I stared at her, holding my baby close. My smile didn’t waver. “Of course, Abigail. I’ll pay you—on one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Condition? What condition?”
I walked over to the computer desk we kept in the area between the kitchen and the living room and pulled out a folder I’d prepared earlier. I’d spent the past few days going through every instance when Jake and I had done something for her.
A set of folders arranged on a desk | Source: Pexels
Every favor, every single dollar we ever spent on her (excluding gifts) was all there in black and white.
“Well,” I said, flipping it open, “since you’re charging us for your services, I figured it’s only fair we do the same.”
I laid the folder on the table and slid it toward her. Abigail leaned over, her face tight with suspicion. “What is this?” she asked.
“You can think of it as an itemized invoice,” I said, keeping my voice light. “You know, like professionals do.”
Her face went pale as she grabbed the paper and scanned what I’d written.
A woman in her 60s looking surprised while holding a piece of paper | Source: Midjourney
“Let’s see,” I began, tapping the paper. “Helping you move houses last year? That’s $800. That’s cheaper than regular movers, so you can consider it a family discount. Then, there’s the time we paid for your car repair when your transmission failed. That was $1,200. And the free babysitting I did for your neighbor’s kids at your request? That’s around $600.”
Two people moving boxes | Source: Pexels
Abigail’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “This is ridiculous!” she finally sputtered. “You can’t charge me for things family does for each other!”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Exactly,” I said, my tone sharp. “Family helps each other out without expecting payment. At least, that’s what I thought.”
A woman in her 30s holding a newborn in a blanket, talking and waving her hand | Source: Midjourney
She tried to argue, but her words came out jumbled. “But… but this is different! I had to rearrange my schedule to take care of Rich!”
“And I had to rearrange my entire life to have your grandchild,” I shot back, shrugging. “So if you want to talk about fair compensation, I think we’re more than even.”
Abigail’s face turned beet red. She stood there for a moment, staring at me like she couldn’t believe what was happening. Then, without another word, she spun around and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard the baby started to fuss.
A woman in her 60s, her face blushed and pouting, looking angry in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Jake, who had been watching silently from the kitchen, walked over and shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “No one should mess with my wife,” he said, wrapping me in his arms and kissing my cheek.
I couldn’t help but laugh as we pulled apart. “You got that right,” I replied teasingly, sinking onto the couch with the baby.
Rich trotted over, his tail wagging, and rested his head on my knee. I scratched his ears, looking down at the little bundle in my arms.
A golden retriever with a lolling tongue | Source: Pexels
At that moment, I felt at peace. Abigail might not have learned her lesson, but at least she wouldn’t be bothering us about that $600 again. And if she ever did, well… I still had the folder.
Let her try me.
A woman in her 30s holding a newborn wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a couch with her husband smiling in the background | Source: Midjourney
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