I’ve always been the responsible one. While my peers partied through their twenties, I worked long hours at a financial firm, saved diligently, and bought my own condo by 30. My grandparents instilled that work ethic in me, and when they passed, they left me their modest apartment—more a symbol of their values than anything else.
I kept it as a quiet retreat—until Sierra, my irresponsible stepsister, called me in tears. Her roommate bailed, she was broke, and she was facing eviction. Against my better judgment, I let her stay in the apartment rent-free for three months to get back on her feet.
At first, everything seemed fine. Then my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Lindstrom, mentioned strange activity—suitcases, guests, and a man asking her to rate his stay. I went to the apartment and discovered Sierra had turned it into a short-term rental. She wasn’t living there—she was profiting off it, complete with fake amenities listed online.
Rather than confront her outright, I created a fake Airbnb profile, booked the apartment, and left a scathing review citing false advertising. Then I reported her to Airbnb with proof I owned the place. Her listing was taken down, and her little side hustle collapsed.
Sierra stormed in, furious, but I reminded her she’d only been granted temporary use—not ownership. When she threatened to involve our parents, I beat her to it—with screenshots. She was out by nightfall.
Not long after, Mrs. Lindstrom mentioned she wanted to live closer to her daughter—right next door to the apartment. I offered it to her, rent-free for three months, just like I had Sierra. Except this time, it went to someone who truly deserved it.
My grandparents always said, “Help people if you can. Karma does the rest.” I’ve learned to add: Help those who’ve earned it.
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