They always say, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” but no one warns you about the enemy living under your own roof—smiling sweetly over morning coffee like nothing’s wrong.
At first, I chalked up the weird tension in the house to Tracy just being Tracy: self-absorbed, shameless, and completely tone-deaf. But when five thousand dollars vanished from my college fund, and she showed up the next day flashing a suspiciously dazzling new smile, I realized this wasn’t some harmless family drama—it was sabotage. And that perfect grin? It was hiding a dirty little secret ready to crack wide open.
Who steals from their own kid? My stepmom did. She swiped $5,000 from my college fund—for veneers. Yep, a shiny, Hollywood smile at my expense. But karma? She got her appointment sooner than she expected—and it wasn’t pretty.
Money can’t buy happiness, but apparently, it can buy a smile. At least that’s what Tracy thought when she helped herself to the college fund my late mom had painstakingly built for me. Without a shred of guilt, she treated herself to dental upgrades, while I was left scrambling.
I’m Kristen, a 17-year-old with college dreams and a nose for injustice. My mom died when I was little, but she left me a college fund. It wasn’t huge, but it was mine, built piece by piece from babysitting jobs and tutoring. My dad and I added what we could.
Enter Tracy: a whirlwind of vanity, glued to her phone, obsessed with appearances like it was a full-time job. Every day was a beauty contest she had to win—with no room for humility.
One day, I walked in to find her practically glowing.
“Kristen! Guess what? Veneers!” she announced like she’d won the lottery.
“Cool?” I said, but something didn’t sit right.
“Oh, and I found a way to pay for them without emptying my wallet!” she added, all too cheerfully.
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
“I borrowed a little from your college fund. Just five grand!”
I nearly blacked out. “You stole from me!”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s family money. Your dad said it was fine.”
Yeah, right. Dad was blindsided when I called him. He promised to handle it—though I suspected that meant hoping she’d forget.
Weeks later, Tracy was flashing her new “million-dollar” smile, grinning like she’d won the suburban crown.
“Oh Kristen,” she sneered one day, “don’t scare the kids you tutor with those teeth.”
I bit back a retort about spending thousands on fake teeth.
Then came the infamous backyard BBQ where she unveiled her “miracle smile.”
As she bit into corn on the cob, CRACK!
Her veneer shattered spectacularly.
She ran inside, mouth covered, leaving behind jaws dropped and a broken piece of plastic on a plate.
Later, I overheard her yelling at the dentist—the cheap veneers were a disaster, repairs cost even more. Karma’s sweet revenge.
Dad finally drew the line. “You’re paying Kristen back every cent or we’re rethinking everything.”
For the first time, Tracy looked afraid.
Weeks passed. She became a recluse, hiding from neighbors and mirrors alike. Meanwhile, Dad’s rebuilding my college fund.
The other day, I caught Tracy eyeing a dental implant ad with that same wistful look.
I smirked. “Need investment advice, Tracy?”
She shot me a glare and stomped off. Dad tried not to laugh.
So yeah, my stepmom stole $5,000 for fake teeth that couldn’t survive corn on the cob. But karma bit back hard, and now she’s the one left chewing on regret.
As for me? I’m chasing my college dreams with a fuller fund, a sharper edge, and one hell of a story to tell.
Maybe I’ll even write a memoir:
“From Veneers to Victory: How My Stepmom’s Dental Disaster Funded My Future.”
In the end: Tracy’s quest for a flawless smile cost her pride, peace, and a lot of social clout—while my college fund got a second chance. It turns out, true value isn’t in perfect teeth, but in lessons learned and justice served—one cracked veneer at a time.