Parents Started Charging Me Rent Because I Had Decorated My Room – Karma Hit Back
When my parents decided I should pay rent for the basement I’d turned into my own little sanctuary, they didn’t realize it would lead to my freedom and their own regret.
It always felt like I was the odd one out in my family. My suspicions were confirmed when you looked at the stark contrast in how my parents treated me compared to my younger brother, Daniel.
When I reached 17, we moved into a modest two-bedroom house, and apparently, Daniel needed his own space. So, instead of sharing with me, they pushed me into the unfinished basement.
Meanwhile, Daniel was given a huge, bright room upstairs, with all brand-new amenities — fresh furniture, fun decorations, and even a new gaming setup. As for me, I got the leftover junk from the garage.
I can vividly recall when they first took me to my “new room.”
Mom was acting like she was handing me a prize, gesturing around the damp, concrete room. “Elena, darling, isn’t this wonderful? You’ve got so much space!”
I looked at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs dancing in the corners, and the musty smell that seemed to linger. “Sure, Mom, it’s great.”
Dad hit me on the shoulder playfully. “That’s my girl! Let’s see if we can spruce it up later, alright?”
Well, later never quite happened. But I made up my mind not to stay in a dungeon indefinitely.
I took on a part-time job at the nearby grocery store, handling bags and corralling carts. The job wasn’t glamorous but it funded my basement transformation bit by bit.
My Aunt Teresa was my steadfast ally. She was the only one aware of what my home life was really like.
When she learned about my basement endeavor, she started visiting on weekends with paintbrushes in hand and a contagious spirit of determination.
“Alright, Ellie-girl,” she’d laugh as she tied her unruly hair back. “Let’s light up this place!”
We began with paint, changing the depressing concrete walls to a soothing lavender. Then we added curtains for the tiny windows, rugs to cover the cold underfoot, and twinkling lights to eliminate shadows.
Each paycheck brought me closer to making the basement my own. Over time, I adorned the walls with band posters, neatly placed my book collection on old shelves, and scored a secondhand desk for schoolwork.
The day I hung up LED lights above my bed, I took it all in and felt something I hadn’t in years: pride.
Just as I was savoring my accomplishment, I heard footsteps; Mom and Dad were coming down. Their expressions were… unexpected.
Dad smirked, “Looks like somebody’s been busy down here.”
I hoped for some kind words or praise. Mom, however, had something different in mind.
“Elena,” she gestured around, “if you can afford all this, then you should start contributing to the house.”
I was floored. “What?”
“You hear your mother,” Dad agreed. “It’s time to learn responsibility. You pay rent now.”
Shell-shocked, I spluttered, “Rent? I’m still in high school!”
Mom folded her arms. “Well, if you’re earning enough, you can help with expenses. It’ll be good for you.”
Daniel had a lavish room, paid with their money, and yet never worked a day in his life. But arguing would only get me nowhere, so I gave in. “Alright,” I said through clenched teeth. “How much do I owe?”
When they named their price, my heart sank. It meant saying goodbye to any dreams of college savings.
Then Daniel bounced downstairs, whistling at my efforts. He reached up and pulled down my carefully draped LED lights, leaving a trail of peeled paint as they fell.
“Daniel!” I shouted, but my parents raced to comfort him. “Kids will be kids,” Dad chuckled dismissively.
I stood there, heartbroken among overturned hopes. But I knew one day, life would even things out.
Not long after, Aunt Teresa brought a guest for dinner: Ava, an interior designer friend.
Aunt Teresa spoke up, “Ava, you’ve got to see what my niece did with the basement. It’s splendid!”
Feeling my cheeks flush, I hesitantly led Ava down. She was impressed by the transformation.
“You’ve got a knack for design,” she marveled, checking my repurposed bookshelf. “There’s an internship at my firm, aimed at college students, but we could make an exception for you. Are you interested in design professionally?”
My excitement was uncontainable. “Yes! Absolutely, I’d love that!”
Ava smiled. “Great! The internship is paid, and it can lead to a scholarship if you pursue design in college. Want to start?”
As Ava headed upstairs, my parents’ stunned silence told the story. Their expressions were priceless.
Suddenly, I had direction, purpose, and people in my corner.
My budding design career brightened my days even as I continued juggling school and my grocery store job. Yet, the enthusiasm for learning about design overshadowed the hardships.
At home, the rent talk stopped. Instead, Dad asked awkwardly about my “design adventures,” while Daniel moped over missed opportunities.
With guidance from Ava, I built my portfolio for college applications and set my sights high.
The wait was painful, but then the acceptance letter arrived. I got into my dream school, full scholarship and all!
Mom asked, “What does it say?” I responded with triumph, “Full scholarship!”
Though met with silence from her and a grumble from Daniel, my joy was unstoppable. Aunt Teresa threw a big bash to celebrate my success.
Next, I decorated my new dorm and embraced life anew: full of color, hope, and a newfound family — chosen by me.
