You ever have one of those days where it feels like life just won’t stop hitting you while you’re already down? That was me. A struggling single mom trying to keep it together—and then my slick, smiling neighbor decided to take advantage of me. She tricked me into buying her broken-down car and probably thought she’d never get caught. But life had a surprise in store for her. And oh, it was good.
Let me back up. Three years ago, everything fell apart. My husband Dan died in a horrible crash on Highway 52. One minute we were planning our kids’ summer trip, and the next, I was a 30-year-old widow, crushed by grief and drowning in bills.
To survive, I started working two jobs—waitressing at Mel’s Diner during the day and cleaning offices at night. My amazing mom stepped up and took care of my kids, Dora and Ethan, while I worked myself to the bone.
Last Tuesday, after a long grocery run, my old minivan coughed up its last breath right in the parking lot. Smoke poured out, the engine made a horrible screeching sound—and then, silence.
I just sat there gripping the steering wheel, blinking back tears. I knew this meant I’d have to spend money I didn’t have. Again.
And just like a scene from a bad movie, she showed up.
Cheryl.
She strutted across the parking lot like she was walking a red carpet, gold heels clicking, bracelets jingling, and a fake-friendly smile on her lips.
“April, honey!” she called. “Car trouble?”
I quickly wiped my face. “Yeah… I think it’s finally done for.”
Cheryl gave a dramatic sigh and stared at her perfect nails. “You know what? This might be your lucky day! I’ve got a cute little Toyota just sitting in my garage. Barely used! My nephew Tommy drove it for, like, six months before moving to California.”
My heart lifted. “Really? How much?”
“Well,” she said with a giggle, “normally I’d ask $3,000. But since we’re neighbors? $2,500. Total steal.”
I should’ve known something was fishy when she made me meet her the next morning at 7 a.m.. Who sells a car at dawn?
“Sorry it’s early,” she said as I pulled up, not sorry at all. “I’ve got yoga at nine, then brunch with Marcus—my new boyfriend. He’s taking me to that fancy fusion place downtown.”
The silver Toyota sat in the driveway, looking clean and innocent. I turned the key—it started right up.
“See?” Cheryl beamed. “Purrs like a kitten! Tommy took great care of it. Oil changes every three months. Swear!”
We took a quick drive around the block. Radio worked, AC blew cold, brakes were smooth. I’m not a mechanic, but it felt okay.
“Any problems I should know about?” I asked.
She let out that annoying laugh that always gave me goosebumps—in a bad way. “Honey, would I sell a lemon to my neighbor? Of course not! This baby’s got plenty of life left.”
I handed over twenty-five $100 bills—money I’d saved for Dora’s school clothes and Ethan’s soccer gear. Cheryl grabbed the cash like a kid snatching candy.
“Pleasure doing business, April! You’re gonna love her.”
The very next day, I was pulled over on the side of Clover Hill, hazards flashing, Dora crying in her seat, smoke billowing from the hood.
“Mommy, is the car broken?” Ethan asked from the back, his little voice shaking.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said, trying to stay calm as I called a tow truck. “We’ll figure it out.”
At Murphy’s Auto Shop, Frank the mechanic opened the hood and let out a long whistle. He was the old-school kind of guy with oil under his nails and honesty in his eyes.
“Ma’am,” he said gently, “I hate to break it to you, but this engine’s toast. Seized up tighter than a bank vault. Whoever sold it to you knew this was coming.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, heart sinking.
He showed me tiny metal shavings in the oil. “This engine’s been failing for months. The oil pump’s been bad for a while. No way someone didn’t hear it struggling.”
“How much to fix it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Four to five grand, easy. Honestly? It’s not worth it.”
I felt sick. “Are you sure?”
Frank nodded. “Twenty-seven years, I know a scam when I see one. I’m real sorry, miss. You got played.”
I dropped the kids at school and made a beeline for Cheryl’s house, fists clenched. Her house looked perfect—too perfect. Wind chimes jingled like they were laughing at me.
She opened the door in a silk robe, holding a mimosa. “April! What a surprise!”
“Cut it out, Cheryl,” I said. “You knew that car was busted when you sold it to me.”
She blinked, fake innocence all over her face. “No idea what you’re talking about. It ran fine yesterday.”
“The mechanic says the engine’s been dying for months!”
She shrugged. “You test drove it. Paid cash. No warranty. That’s just how it works, sweetie.”
“Cheryl, I’m a single mom. That was all I had.”
“Maybe next time, do your homework,” she said, then slammed the door in my face.
That night, after work, I went back to Murphy’s to clean out the Toyota. Frank handed me the keys and shook his head.
“Some people got no heart,” he said. “Check under the seats, you’d be surprised what folks leave behind.”
Something in his voice made me pause.
I reached under the driver’s seat and felt something soft. A leather bag. I pulled it out and unzipped it—my hands shook.
Inside? Money. Stacks of crisp $100 bills. I counted it twice. Seven thousand dollars. And tucked beside the cash was a crumpled envelope labeled “Cheryl” and some pawn shop receipts.
Oh. My. God.
I hailed a cab home, grinning the whole ride. The universe really was watching.
The next morning, while I unloaded groceries, I heard the sharp click-click-click of high heels.
Cheryl.
She stormed across the street, panic written all over her face.
“April! Thank goodness you’re home. I need to ask you something.”
I set the bags down. “What’s up?”
“Did you… happen to find a little leather bag in the car? Brown, zippered? Sentimental stuff.”
“Sentimental?” I tilted my head. “That’s funny. When I begged you to take back the car, you didn’t seem so sentimental.”
“Look,” she said, getting desperate. “Just give it back and we’ll forget the whole thing happened.”
“Oh, the one with seven grand inside? That bag?”
She went pale. “That money’s not yours.”
I picked up my bags and turned to my door. “You’re right. But let’s remember what you said: ‘No warranties, no returns.’ Isn’t that how it works in the real world?”
I smiled sweetly, then closed the door.
From my window, I watched Cheryl pacing, phone to her ear, clearly in some kind of crisis. She was gesturing wildly.
An hour later, my phone rang. Unknown number.
“April, it’s Cheryl. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“That money… it’s not mine. It belongs to very serious people. Dangerous people. I need it back.”
I laughed. “So you scam me, shut the door in my face, and now want my help?”
“April, please! You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly. You got greedy and got burned.”
I hung up and blocked her number.
The next morning, her house was dark. Her car? Gone. Mail piling up. Fancy lawn decor collecting dust. Cheryl had vanished.
Later that day, Frank called. “April? Good news. I found a guy to buy the Toyota for parts. Covers your tow bill and puts a couple hundred back in your wallet.”
“Frank, you’re a lifesaver!”
“Oh, and Mr. Martinez—he’s selling a Honda. Reliable. Fair price. Want me to set you up?”
Three weeks later, I was driving my kids to school in a sturdy Honda. Dora was buzzing about her school play. Ethan was hyped for soccer.
“Mommy,” Dora asked, “why doesn’t Miss Cheryl live across the street anymore?”
I glanced at the “For Sale” sign on Cheryl’s lawn. “Sometimes people have to move when they make bad choices.”
“Like when Joey cheated on his spelling test?”
“Exactly like that, baby.”
I caught my reflection in the mirror and smiled. For the first time in a long while, it felt real.
Because sometimes? The universe doesn’t just balance things out—it delivers karma with a cherry on top.