The Sweet Revenge
When Mia’s stepmother, Trudy, planned this over-the-top, extravagant 45th birthday party for herself, Mia already knew what was coming. She’d be stuck in the background, doing all the work. But what neither of them expected was that karma was about to deliver a lesson that Trudy would never forget.
This story has one of those perfect moments when the universe takes over, and trust me, it’s glorious.
So, I’m Mia, a 16-year-old living with my dad and my stepmom, Trudy. She’s been in our lives for about two years, and she’s nailed the role of “evil stepmom” like she was born to do it. If being self-centered was an Olympic sport, Trudy would definitely take home the gold.
Living with her is like being in a never-ending bad reality show—except I don’t get any camera time or a paycheck.
My dad? He’s a “peacekeeper” kind of guy. He’s all about “happy wife, happy life,” but with Trudy, it feels like happiness is always in short supply. She expects the whole world to revolve around her.
Then, last Saturday, Trudy’s birthday bash finally arrived. She went all out, like it was some kind of royal gala. The party looked more like a wedding reception than a birthday celebration. All week, she’d been strutting around the house like a queen preparing for her coronation.
“Mia, make sure you get me something special this year,” she said one morning as I was making my smoothie. “A dishwasher would be perfect. I’ve done so much for you.”
Sure, Trudy. By “so much,” she meant treating me like a servant.
“Uh, Trudy,” I replied, blending my smoothie, “I’m saving up for my prom dress.”
Her face scrunched up in disbelief. “Your prom dress? That’s ridiculous! Just buy something cheap from a store. A dishwasher is way more practical. No excuses.”
Excuses? She actually expected me to use my prom dress savings to buy her a dishwasher? Where was my fairy godmother when I needed her?
On top of everything, Trudy had convinced my dad that I was “too young” to get a real job. So, I babysat the neighborhood kids to save up, but it wasn’t nearly enough to buy a prom dress and a dishwasher.
Finally, the day of the party came. The house was buzzing with activity—caterers, an event planner, and enough flowers to fill a greenhouse. Meanwhile, I was busy wiping down mirrors and setting up drink stations, doing my best to stay invisible.
Once her friends arrived, Trudy turned into a diva. She was throwing out fake smiles and basking in compliments like she was some kind of celebrity. “Mia! Refill the drinks!” she yelled. And, of course, I had to do it.
I spent most of the party drifting around like a ghost, waiting for the moment the cake would be cut so I could escape.
At some point, I grabbed a plate of food and found a quiet spot to hide. My dad found me there and laughed, “Taking a break, Mimi? Let me get you a fancy milkshake from the milkshake bar.”
Soon enough, it was time for the cake. My dad lit the candles, and Trudy pranced around like she was the star of a Broadway show. But when the party started to wind down, she clinked her wine glass and gave me that look I knew all too well.
“Mia, since you didn’t bother to get me a dishwasher, the least you can do is wash all these dishes.”
The room went dead silent. Every guest turned to look at me. I was mortified. Did she really just say that?
“You didn’t get your mom a gift?” one of her friends asked, pretending to care. “That’s so rude.”
I swallowed, trying to keep my voice calm. “Trudy, I told you—I’m saving for prom.”
She waved her hand, dismissing me like I didn’t matter. “Just wash the dishes, Mia. Do something useful.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I forced a smile. “Fine.” I spent the next hour scrubbing dishes, feeling my anger boil over.
The next morning, I woke up to Trudy’s screams coming from the kitchen. I rushed downstairs and found her standing in a puddle of water. The kitchen floor was flooded, and the smell of burnt plastic filled the air.
“What happened?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“The pipes! The kitchen is ruined!” Trudy screeched, flapping her hands in panic.
It turns out she had poured meat oil down the drain after the party and then tried to fix it with drain cleaner. It completely destroyed the pipes.
I bit my lip, holding back laughter. Sweet, sweet karma.
For the rest of the week, the kitchen was unusable, and the repairs were so expensive that my dad had to cut back on some things.
“Except for Mia,” he said. “I’ve set aside $500 for her prom dress.”
Trudy was livid. “You’re spoiling her, David! What about the kitchen tiles?”
My dad didn’t budge. “You spoiled yourself with that party. I’m going to spoil my daughter for her prom.”
Trudy fumed but eventually had to back down. She even agreed to let me get a part-time job and tried to make up with me.
“I’ll help you find a prom dress,” she said, trying to smile.
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