I’m 29. My son, Jasper, is seven. My younger sister, Chloe, is 25. Our mom died when we were kids, so it was just Dad raising us.
He loved us both, of course, but he had this soft spot for Chloe. She was spoiled—he gave her money, let her skip responsibilities, and excused her behavior.
I tried to understand it, but growing up like that… Chloe became entitled, jealous, and obsessed with parties and attention.
Everything blew up last weekend.
Friday night, Chloe calls, all sweet and sugary:
“Hey, Liza! Can Jasper come over tomorrow? I got a new board game, and he’d love it!”
My gut screamed no, but I wanted Jasper to have fun. Mistake.
The next day, my phone rings. Chloe is screaming:
“LIZA! YOUR SON RUINED MY VINTAGE SOFA! I WANT $3,700!”
I nearly dropped the phone. Jasper?
“Chloe… Jasper couldn’t do this,” I said, trying to stay calm.
“Don’t lie for him! He’s seven! THAT SOFA IS DESTROYED!” she yells.
I can hear Jasper whimpering in the background. After I hung up, I kneeled down next to him.
“Jasper, tell me what happened.”
He looks up at me, terrified.
“Mom… I didn’t do it. I swear!”
For the next 24 hours, Chloe harassed me non-stop—texts, calls, and links to some outrageously expensive restoration service. She demanded I pay IMMEDIATELY. $3,700!
But the next day, I got an unexpected call. And it blew my mind.
The real story about that sofa was nothing like Chloe’s lies. Karma had already started teaching her a lesson she would never forget.
It was the owner of the furniture rental company.
“Hello, is this Liza?” a man asked politely.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Ray from LuxeLiving Rentals. I just wanted to confirm—you’re the emergency contact listed for a Miss Chloe Harper?”
My stomach dropped. “Uh… yes. What’s this about?”
“Well, Miss Harper rented a cream velvet sectional from us last month for a photoshoot. The contract was clear—no pets, no kids, no food or drink on the sofa. Yesterday, we received a report of wine damage and a large tear on the cushions. She listed your son as the one responsible, and filed a claim under your name.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “WHAT? That sofa isn’t even hers?”
“No, ma’am,” he said firmly. “It’s ours. And because she lied on the paperwork and attempted insurance fraud, we’ll be pursuing this matter directly with her.”
I was shaking—half with rage, half with relief.
So Chloe had dragged Jasper into her mess. Tried to scam me out of thousands to cover her own mistake.
I hung up, seething. And when I confronted Chloe, her smirk melted the second I told her:
“Funny thing, Chloe. LuxeLiving called me. The sofa isn’t even yours. They know about the wine, the tear, and the insurance fraud. You might want to start saving for a lawyer—because this time, Daddy’s not here to save you.”
Her face turned ghost white.
