My Stepmom Broke My New TV After I Said We Couldn’t Afford Buying Her One – But Karma Was Listening
I never thought I’d be the kind of person to believe in karma, but sometimes life has a way of teaching you lessons in the most unexpected ways. My name is Ethan, I’m 24, and I live with my dad and my stepmom, Carla, in a modest house in the suburbs. My dad’s a mechanic, and Carla works part-time at a nail salon. Money’s always been tight, but we get by. This story, though, is about the day I bought myself a new TV, the argument that followed, and how the universe seemed to have a score to settle.
It all started about six months ago. I’d been saving up for over a year, picking up extra shifts at the warehouse where I work, to buy a 55-inch 4K smart TV. I’m a bit of a gamer, and my old TV—a clunky 32-inch thing from the early 2000s—was barely holding up. The screen flickered, the colors were washed out, and it took five minutes to connect to my gaming console. I’d been eyeing this new TV at the electronics store for months, and when I finally had enough saved, I felt like I’d won the lottery. I brought it home, set it up in my room, and spent the whole evening playing Cyberpunk 2077 in glorious detail. It was my pride and joy, a small reward for all the overtime I’d been pulling.
Carla, however, didn’t share my excitement. She’s been my stepmom for about three years, and while we’ve never been close, we usually manage to coexist. She’s the kind of person who always wants something new—new clothes, new jewelry, new gadgets—but she’s not great at holding down a steady job to pay for it all. My dad’s too soft-hearted to say no to her, so he often ends up footing the bill for her whims. That’s why, when she saw my new TV, her eyes lit up with that familiar glint of envy.
“Ethan, that’s a nice TV,” she said, leaning against my doorframe the next morning. “You must’ve spent a fortune on it.”
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Saved up for a while. It’s for gaming.”
She nodded, but I could see the wheels turning in her head. Sure enough, later that day, she cornered me in the kitchen. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said, stirring sugar into her coffee. “The living room TV is so old. It’s embarrassing when I have friends over. Maybe you could chip in, and we could get a new one for the house.”
I nearly choked on my cereal. The living room TV wasn’t great, sure, but it worked fine for watching her reality shows. Besides, I knew “chip in” meant I’d be paying for most, if not all, of it. “Carla, I just spent everything I had on my TV. I don’t have extra cash lying around.”
Her face tightened. “Oh, come on, Ethan. You’re always working. You can afford it. Don’t be selfish.”
“Selfish?” I set my spoon down, trying to keep my cool. “I worked my butt off for that TV. I’m not a bank, Carla. We can’t afford to replace every TV in the house just because you want an upgrade.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she slammed her mug on the counter. “You’re so ungrateful. I do so much around here, and you can’t even help out? Fine, keep your precious TV.” She stormed out, leaving me staring at my soggy Cheerios, wondering why I felt like the bad guy.
Things were tense for the next few days. Carla barely spoke to me, and when she did, it was laced with passive-aggressive jabs. “Must be nice to have such a fancy TV all to yourself,” she’d mutter as she passed my room. My dad, as usual, stayed out of it, probably hoping we’d sort it out ourselves. I tried to ignore her, focusing on my games and my job, but I could feel the storm brewing.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, it happened. I’d come home from a morning shift, exhausted but looking forward to unwinding with my TV. As I walked into my room, my heart stopped. My beautiful 55-inch TV was lying face-down on the floor, the screen shattered like a spiderweb. The stand was broken, and the power cord was yanked out of the wall. I stood there, frozen, my stomach churning with a mix of shock and rage.
“Carla!” I shouted, storming into the living room where she was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone. “What the hell happened to my TV?”
She didn’t even look up. “Oh, that? I was dusting in your room, and it must’ve fallen. Those stands are so flimsy.”
“Dusting?” I could barely keep my voice steady. “You don’t dust, Carla. And it was bolted to the stand. How does a bolted TV just fall?”
She finally met my eyes, her expression smug. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so stingy about the living room TV. Accidents happen, you know.”
I was speechless. I knew she’d done it on purpose—there was no way that TV fell on its own. I wanted to scream, to demand she pay for it, but I knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t have the money, and my dad would probably tell me to let it go to keep the peace. I stormed back to my room, slammed the door, and sat on my bed, staring at the wreckage of my hard-earned prize. I felt violated, like she’d taken something personal from me just to prove a point.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept replaying her smug face, her casual dismissal. I wanted justice, but I didn’t know how to get it. I couldn’t prove she’d broken it on purpose, and even if I could, what good would it do? I decided to let it go, or at least try to. Maybe karma would sort it out, I thought bitterly.
And then, karma did.
A week later, Carla came home buzzing with excitement. Apparently, she’d entered some local radio contest and won a prize—a brand-new, top-of-the-line 65-inch OLED TV. She bragged about it non-stop, telling my dad how it would “class up” the living room and how her friends would be so jealous. I stayed quiet, the sting of my broken TV still fresh, but I couldn’t help noticing how gleeful she was about her win. She didn’t even mention my TV, like it had never happened.
The delivery day arrived, and Carla was practically vibrating with anticipation. The delivery guys brought the massive box into the living room, and she insisted on setting it up herself, shooing them away before they could help. “I’ve got this,” she said, waving a hand. “I don’t need anyone breaking my new baby.”
I watched from the kitchen, sipping a soda, as she struggled to lift the TV onto the entertainment stand. It was heavy—way heavier than my 55-inch—and she was clearly out of her depth. My dad offered to help, but she snapped at him to back off. “I said I’ve got it!” she huffed, hoisting it awkwardly.
You can probably guess what happened next. Her grip slipped, and the TV tilted forward. She tried to catch it, but it was too late. The massive screen hit the edge of the stand and then the floor with a sickening crunch. The room went silent. Carla stood there, hands over her mouth, staring at the shattered remains of her prize.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, no…”
My dad rushed over, trying to console her, but she pushed him away, tears streaming down her face. “This isn’t fair!” she wailed. “I won this! It was mine!”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, just a quiet, disbelieving chuckle. The irony was too perfect. Carla’s head snapped toward me, her eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” she shrieked.
I shrugged, keeping my voice calm. “Kinda looks like an accident, Carla. You know, those stands are so flimsy.”
Her face turned red, but she didn’t say anything. She knew I’d thrown her own words back at her, and there was nothing she could do about it. My dad gave me a look, but I could tell he was fighting a smile. He’s never been one for confrontation, but even he could see the poetic justice.
In the days that followed, Carla was quieter than usual. She didn’t bring up replacing the living room TV again, and she stopped making snide comments about my room or my stuff. I ended up using some of my savings to fix my TV—turns out, the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked, and a repair shop managed to replace the screen for a fraction of the original cost. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked, and that was enough for me.
As for Carla, she never admitted to breaking my TV, but she didn’t have to. The universe had spoken loud and clear. Sometimes, karma doesn’t just listen—it delivers.
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