I’ve always been the one who takes responsibility. While others spent their twenties partying, I focused on working long hours at a financial firm, saving every penny, and by 30, I had enough to buy my own condo. My grandparents taught me that work ethic, and when they passed, they left me their modest apartment. It was more of a keepsake of their values than a true asset.
I kept it as a quiet sanctuary, away from the bustle of life—until Sierra, my irresponsible stepsister, called me in a panic. Her roommate had left her high and dry, she had no money for rent, and she was on the verge of eviction. Against my better judgment, I agreed to let her stay in the apartment for three months, rent-free, to help her get back on her feet.
For a while, things seemed fine. But then, my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Lindstrom, mentioned strange things—suitcases, guests, and even a man asking her to rate his stay. My suspicion grew, so I visited the apartment. To my shock, Sierra had turned it into a short-term rental. She wasn’t even living there—she was making money off it, listing fake amenities online.
Rather than confront her directly, I created a fake Airbnb profile, booked the apartment, and left a scathing review about the false advertising. I also reported her to Airbnb, showing proof that I owned the property. Her listing was removed, and her little business venture crumbled.
Sierra stormed in, furious, but I calmly reminded her that she had been granted temporary use of the apartment, not ownership. When she threatened to tell our parents, I beat her to it—sending screenshots of the entire situation. By the end of the night, she was out.
A few weeks later, Mrs. Lindstrom mentioned she wanted to live closer to her daughter, right next door. I offered her the apartment, rent-free for three months, just like I had Sierra. But this time, it went to someone who truly deserved it.
My grandparents always said, “Help people if you can. Karma takes care of the rest.” Now, I’ve learned to add: “Help those who’ve earned it.”