When Nicole’s stepmother calls her saying that she has a gift for her, Nicole goes over excitedly. But when she discovers what the gift is, Nicole is torn between keeping her father happy or retaliating. Finally, she accepts it and plans to transform it into something completely different. In the end Nicole is ready to claim the rewards of her hard work.
Ever have one of those moments where you should’ve just trusted your gut? Yep, that was me, standing in my stepmother’s basement, staring at the ugliest, smelliest couch I’d ever seen.
A close up of a young woman | Source: Midjourney
My stepmother, Susan, called me earlier that morning with a grand gesture for my birthday. She insisted that she had a “priceless” gift that was too big for her to move alone.
“You’re going to love it, Nicole!” she said. “It’s absolutely priceless! Come over later today, and we’ll show it to you.”
Now, this is the point when I tell you that Susan and I had never been close. In fact, if I’m being honest, she barely tolerated my existence. So, imagine my absolute surprise when she offered me a gift.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“Curiosity killed the cat, Nic,” I said to myself as I got into the car.
I just wanted to see what it was, and I hoped that, for once, she might actually be genuine.
So, I get to my dad’s house, and he tells me that Susan’s busy.
“She’s sorting out the basement, honey,” he said. “Susan is finally cleaning out her clutter. It’s about time, to be honest. Come, have a cup of tea.”
A smiling older man | Source: Midjourney
“No, let me check out the gift first, Dad,” I said. “I’m so curious!”
He chuckled, oblivious to my nerves. Susan had a knack for random gifts. Last year, she gave me water bottles and socks for my birthday. I wondered if this year would be any different.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get Susan, and then we can have some tea and a slice of cake. Susan made lemon cake this morning.”
A slice of lemon cake | Source: Midjourney
I paced in the foyer while my dad went down to the basement. Moments later, I heard them on the stairs.
Then I saw it.
My dad and Susan were making their way out of the basement with the monstrosity of a couch. The fabric was stained and ripped, with a stench that could probably knock out an adult horse! It looked like it had been neglected for decades!
A stained yellow couch | Source: Midjourney
“Happy Birthday!” Susan beamed, as if she were handing me the keys to a new car.
My dad looked at me expectantly, hoping I’d be happy with the gift. But it was horrendous! Rejecting it would hurt him, and Susan knew it. I could see it on her face.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
I swallowed my frustration and called my boyfriend to bring his van over.
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes, babe,” Derek said.
“Thank you!” I replied. “I think they want the couch out today, so I need to take it home.”
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Not a problem, Nic,” he said. “I’m just gaming online. But I’ll be done soon.”
I knew that Susan was using me as a free dump and delivery service. That couch wasn’t fit to be in any home. But again, I was determined to keep the peace for my father.
Derek showed up as I was drinking my cup of tea, and we loaded the couch and left for my home. He was going to follow me home, and we planned on having dinner together.
A young man in a driving | Source: Midjourney
“This couch is rough,” he said. “Looks like it’s been through a storm or two.”
My initial plan was to dump it at the curb and let someone else take it, but then something shifted inside me. I wasn’t going to let Susan win.
I decided to restore the couch and give it a second life. And so began a project I ne ver thought would lead to surprising results.
A young woman with yellow rubber gloves | Source: Midjourney
First, I tackled the smell.
The couch reeked of a stench that it seemed to have a life of its own. And the odor only got stronger as the day went on.
Luckily, I found a recipe for a DIY deodorizing solution online: white vinegar, water, and a few drops of lavender essential oil. I mixed it up and sprayed it generously over the couch, letting it sit for a few hours.
Glass bottles on a counter | Source: Midjourney
The vinegar smell was overpowering, but it faded, taking most of the nasty odor with it.
Next, I had to deal with the stains.
The years of spills and neglect had left their mark, so I whipped up a cleaning concoction of baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and a small amount of dish soap. With a soft brush in hand, I carefully scrubbed the stained areas, working the mixture into the fabric.
Different cleaning supplies on a counter | Source: Midjourney
I let it sit for about fifteen minutes before wiping it off with a damp cloth. The transformation was already noticeable. The stains were fading, and I felt optimistic about my restoration project.
But then I had to deal with the rips and tears. A simple needle and thread weren’t going to fix this.
A woman scrubbing a couch | Source: Midjourney
“Nic, you need material,” Derek said while marinating chicken in the kitchen. “There’s no other way than to do a funky patch job.”
“I agree,” I said. “Will you be fine here while I do a quick dash into town?”
Derek nodded.
“But why are you rushing?” Derek asked.
A young man in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Because if I don’t, it’ll end up as another sidelined project.”
“Go,” he laughed. “I’ll finish dinner in the meantime.”
So, I went to the local thrift store and found some reasonably matching fabric, random buttons, frills, and even two throw cushions.
A young woman in a thrift shop | Source: Midjourney
I used fabric glue to patch the larger holes and an iron-on fabric mender for the smaller tears. Finally, to give the whole couch a more cohesive look, I added some decorative buttons and tufting in key areas, making it look almost intentional.
A young woman sitting on a couch and looking through buttons | Source: Midjourney
“Alright, give it a rest, Nic,” Derek said as he took the last flatbread out of the pan. “You can finish it off in the morning.”
My arms were exhausted from all the scrubbing, so I was ready to listen to Derek and just sit down and eat everything he prepared.
Flatbread on a board | Source: Midjourney
But the next morning, I was back at it. I used my steam cleaner and thoroughly steamed the couch. I spent hours going over every inch of it, bringing the fabric back to life while I imagined every germ evaporating into oblivion.
By the time I was done, the couch looked like something out of a high-end furniture store.
“Damn, Nic!” I said to myself. “Well done, girl.”
A woman steam cleaning a couch | Source: Midjourney
Feeling pretty proud of my work, I decided to post the couch on a social media marketplace for $5,000. It was almost a joke because I just wanted to see if anyone would go for it.
I loved the restoration of the couch, but I also just wanted to see if I could make some money from my DIY project.
“What on earth?!” I exclaimed when my phone buzzed with a notification. Someone named Maggie was ready to purchase my couch!
A woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney
To my shock, within a day, I got an offer from someone in the ritzy part of town. I couldn’t believe my luck, but I accepted the offer anyway.
“This is just wonderful,” Maggie said.
The moment I agreed to the sale, she came flying over to my place to test out the couch.
“This couch is going to be perfect for my art studio! Why would you ever want to get rid of it?” she asked.
“I’m just redecorating,” I said sheepishly. “But look, it’s yours to love and enjoy.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
A few days later, Susan showed up at my doorstep, furious. She had seen the post and the fact that the couch had been purchased for $5,000.
“You ungrateful little brat! How dare you sell my gift?” she screamed.
“Susan, you gave me a piece of junk. Actual junk. I put in the time and effort to restore it. The only reason it was worth anything now is simply because of my work.”
But she didn’t back down.
A close up of an angry woman | Source: Midjourney
“It was my couch! I expect half the money since you sold it. That’s $2,500!”
I couldn’t believe her nerve.
“No, Susan. If you wanted to sell the couch, you should’ve done it yourself. The transformation and profit are all mine.”
“You’ll regret this!” she shouted, storming off.
She hasn’t come back, so I don’t know what she’s planning. But I know I’ll be getting a call from my dad soon.
A smiling young woman | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
In-Laws Kicked Us Out of the House They Gifted After We Paid for Renovations — Then It Got Even Worse
When Mike’s parents offer him and his family a home, they are over the moon. Mike and Maria have a growing family, and they need the extra space. So, they venture into renovations, making the house a home. But one day, Mike’s parents called, wanting their home back.
When my in-laws offered us a house, we thought it was a dream come true. With three kids and a tight budget, any help came as a blessing.
A close-up of a house | Source: Midjourney
But, let me be honest with you: the house was far from ideal.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere, Mike,” I told my husband when we were sitting on the couch talking about the possibility of moving into the house.
“It’s miles away from the kids’ school and our jobs! We’ll have to leave a lot earlier just to make it on time,” I said, sighing.
A couple sitting on a couch and talking | Source: Midjourney
“I know, Maria,” my husband said. “It irritates me that the nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away. But I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”
I understood. Their gift came at the perfect time. Our little two-bedroom house was cluttered, and our three kids had to share one bedroom.
A cluttered bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“We’ll do it for the kids,” I said, taking his hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll make it work for them.”
“Think of it as a fresh start, kids,” Mike’s mom said when we went over to their home for dinner. “You’ll love the peace and quiet, and the kids will have a lot of space to run about in. This is going to be good for you.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mike said. “We agree with you. We’re looking forward to this new start and just going on a journey together as a family.”
A family sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Met a Fortuneteller After My Wifes Funeral, The Next Day, Her Prediction Came True
The funeral was unbearable. Our daughters, Sophie and Emma, only four and five years old, kept asking, “Where’s Mommy?” I had no idea how to answer. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Thankfully, Elizabeth’s parents and sister were there to help handle the arrangements.
After the service, as I walked to my car in a daze, I felt someone watching me. At first, I thought it was just my grief playing tricks on me, but then I saw her—an old woman standing near the cemetery gates.
She looked ancient, her face etched with deep lines, her sharp eyes piercing through me as if she could see straight into my soul.
“Excuse me,” she called softly.
I hesitated but didn’t respond. I was too drained for conversation, especially with a stranger.
“I know your fate,” she said, her voice serious.
I frowned. “What?”
“Cross my palm with silver, and I’ll reveal the joy and sorrow that lie ahead,” she continued, holding out her hand.
I stared at her, bewildered. A fortune-teller? At a funeral? I shook my head, muttering, “I’m not interested,” and started to walk away.
But her next words stopped me cold. “Elizabeth won’t rest until justice is served.”
I turned back sharply. “What did you say?”
“Twenty dollars,” she said, beckoning with her bony fingers. “That’s all.”
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve dismissed her. But in my grief-stricken state, I was numb to everything. Twenty dollars seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I handed her the crumpled bill.
Her hand felt icy as she grabbed mine, her grip surprisingly firm. She didn’t take her eyes off me, and for a moment, I felt exposed, as though she could see all the pain I was carrying.
“Today, you’ve lost someone dear,” she whispered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said bitterly. “We’re at a cemetery.”
She didn’t flinch. “Your wife’s death was no accident.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s more to her death than you know. Tomorrow, the truth will begin to reveal itself.”
I felt my mouth go dry. “What truth?”
She smiled slowly, an unsettling grin. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll see.”
Before I could ask anything else, she turned and disappeared into the mist, vanishing as if she had never been there. I stood frozen, torn between disbelief and a strange sense of foreboding.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elizabeth—her smile, her laugh, the way she kissed our daughters goodnight. But the fortuneteller’s cryptic words haunted me: “Your wife’s death was no accident.” Was there any truth to it? Could the crash have been something more sinister?
Unable to rest, I got up and sifted through Elizabeth’s things, desperate to feel close to her. Among her belongings, I found something odd—receipts from a car rental service. We had two cars. Why would she need a rental?
I stared at the receipts, my heart racing. The fortuneteller’s words echoed in my mind. “There’s more to her death than you know.”
The next morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I called Elizabeth’s best friend, Sarah, who worked at the garage where our cars were serviced. Maybe she could help me make sense of it all.
“Hey, Sarah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did Elizabeth mention anything to you about renting a car?”
There was a brief pause before she answered. “Actually, yes. She rented a car when both of your cars were in the shop. It was for a surprise trip to the beach, but she returned it the day before… well, you know.”
“But why didn’t she tell me?” I muttered to myself.
“She wanted it to be a surprise,” Sarah replied. “She even asked her sister Karen to return the car for her after the trip.”
A wave of unease washed over me. Karen? Why would she return the car, and why hadn’t I known about it?
Determined to get answers, I drove to the rental company. When I explained the situation, the manager pulled up the records. “The car was returned without visible damage. We accepted it as normal, but… something seems off. Only a few miles were added to the odometer.”
I left the office with more questions than answers. Why had Karen returned the car? What was she hiding? I decided to contact the police, as the suspicion that Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident gnawed at me.
I explained everything to the detective—the car rental, the fortuneteller, my growing doubts. He listened carefully and assured me they’d investigate. “Initially, we ruled it a tragic accident caused by brake failure,” he said. “But now, with what you’ve shared, we’ll take a closer look.”
The days that followed were a blur. Then, the police found something shocking—evidence that someone had tampered with the brakes. My stomach churned as the horrifying truth began to surface.
It wasn’t long before the investigation revealed even more. Karen had taken out a life insurance policy on Elizabeth just months before the accident. She had forged Elizabeth’s signature and made herself the sole beneficiary.
I was sickened. Elizabeth’s death hadn’t been an accident—it was murder. And the person behind it was her own sister.
When Karen was arrested, I couldn’t even look at her. The woman who had comforted me in my grief had been the one to cause it all, driven by greed.
During interrogation, she confessed to tampering with the car’s brakes, hoping to collect the insurance money. The betrayal was devastating.
Karen was sentenced to life in prison. It didn’t bring Elizabeth back, but at least I knew she would never harm anyone again. The fortuneteller had been right—Elizabeth couldn’t rest until justice was served.
A few weeks later, I returned to the cemetery. As I stood by Elizabeth’s grave, I whispered, “You can rest now.”
Just as I was about to leave, a butterfly landed on her headstone. I knew it was Elizabeth, finally at peace.
Though I never saw the fortuneteller again, her words had led me to the truth. As painful as it was, that truth was worth every penny of the twenty dollars I had given her.
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