I’d always felt like the black sheep in my family. It was not just a feeling, though. It was pretty obvious when you looked at how differently my parents treated me and my younger brother, Daniel.

When I was 17, we moved to a two-bedroom house, and my parents decided Daniel needed his own room. Instead of sharing like normal siblings, they shoved me into our unfinished basement.

Meanwhile, he got this huge, bright room upstairs, complete with brand-new everything, like furniture, decorations, and even a gaming setup. Me? I got whatever junk they could scrounge up from the garage.

I remember the day they showed me my new “room.”

Mom gestured around the cold, concrete space like it was some kind of prize. “Elena, honey, isn’t this exciting? You’ll have so much space down here!”

I stared at the bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, the cobwebs in the corners, and the musty smell that clung to everything. “Yeah, Mom. Super exciting.”

Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, kiddo! And hey, maybe we can fix it up a bit later, huh?”

Later never came, of course. But I wasn’t about to live in a dungeon forever.

I picked up an after-school job at the local grocery store, bagging groceries and pushing carts. It wasn’t glamorous, but every paycheck brought me closer to transforming my basement prison.

My Aunt Teresa was my saving grace through it all. She’s the only one who knew what my life was like at home.

So, when she heard what I was doing with the basement, she started coming over on weekends, armed with paintbrushes and a contagious enthusiasm.

“Alright, Ellie-girl,” she’d say, tying back her wild curls. “Let’s make this place shine!”

We started with paint, turning the dingy walls into a soft lavender. Then came curtains to hide the tiny windows, area rugs to cover the cold floor, and string lights to chase away the shadows.

It took months because my job didn’t exactly pay much, but slowly, the basement became mine. I hung up posters of my favorite bands, arranged my books on salvaged shelves, and even managed to snag a secondhand desk for homework.

The day I hung up the final touch, a set of LED lights around my bed, I stepped back and felt something I hadn’t in a long time or perhaps my entire life: pride.

I was admiring my handiwork when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Mom and Dad appeared and looked around with raised eyebrows.

“Well, well,” Dad said, his eyes narrowing. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

I waited for praise, or at least acknowledgment of my hard work. Instead, Mom pursed her lips.

“Elena, if you have money for all this,” she waved her hand at my carefully curated space, “then you can start contributing to the household.”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

“That’s right,” Dad nodded. “We think it’s time you started paying rent.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Rent? I’m 17! I’m still in high school!”

“And clearly making enough to redecorate,” Mom countered, crossing her arms. “It’s time you learned some financial responsibility.”

I wanted to scream. Daniel had a room three times the size of mine, fully furnished and decorated on their dime, and he’d never worked a day in his life. Yes, he was younger, but still, it was more of their unfairness.

Unfortunately, I knew I couldn’t argue with them, so I bit my tongue. “Fine,” I managed. “How much?”

They named a figure that made my stomach sink. It was doable, but it meant saying goodbye to any hopes of saving for college, which was my plan now that the basement was done.

As if to add insult to injury, Daniel chose that moment to thunder down the stairs. He took one look around and let out a low whistle.

“Whoa, sis. Nice cave.” His eyes landed on my LED lights. “Hey, are these strong?”

Before I could stop him, he reached up and yanked on the strip. The lights came down with a sad flicker, leaving a trail of peeled paint behind them.

“Daniel!” I cried. But my parents rushed to him, asked if something was wrong, and just shrugged at me.

“Boys will be boys,” Dad chuckled as if his golden boy hadn’t just destroyed something I’d worked months for.

So, there I was, standing in my once-again darkened room, fighting back tears of frustration. In the grand scheme of things, Daniel had only ruined my lights, and I could fix that up. But in truth, it was more than that.

It was a symbol of my life; always second best, always the afterthought. But karma, as they say, has a way of evening the score.

A few weeks later, my parents invited Aunt Teresa over for dinner along with some friends. She brought along a woman named Ava, an interior designer from her book club.

We all sat around the dining table and picked at Mom’s overcooked pot roast while she gushed about Daniel and his football team.

But suddenly, Aunt Teresa spoke up. “Ava, you’ve got to see what my niece has done with the basement. It’s incredible!”

I felt my cheeks heat up as all eyes turned to me. “It’s not that big a deal,” I mumbled.

But Ava was intrigued. “I’d love to see it. Do you mind?”

Ignoring my parents’ tight smiles, I led Ava downstairs. As she looked around, her eyes widened.

“Elena, this is amazing. You did all this yourself?”

I nodded, suddenly shy. “Most of it. My aunt helped with some of the bigger stuff.”

Ava ran her hand along the repurposed bookshelf I’d salvaged from a neighbor’s curb. “You have a real eye for design. There wasn’t much potential here, but the way you’ve maximized the space, the color choices… it’s really impressive.”

For the first time in forever, I felt a spark of hope. “Really?”

She nodded and smiled. “In fact, we have an internship opening up at my firm. It’s usually for college students, but… I think we could make an exception for a high school student about to go to college. Are you interested in design as a career?”

I had to stop my jaw from falling off when I tried to speak. “Absolutely! I mean, I’ve never really considered it professionally, but I love it.”

Ava smiled. “Well, consider it now. The internship is paid, and if you do a good job, you might be able to earn a scholarship from the company for college if you pursue design. What do you say?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Yes! A thousand times, yes! Thank you!”

“Excellent! You can begin straight away. I’ll call you with details later,” Ava nodded and bypassed my parents as she headed upstairs.

I hadn’t even realized they had followed us downstairs. Their faces were stunned, and my brother looked confused that, for once, the spotlight was on someone else.

That internship changed everything. Suddenly, I had a direction, a purpose, and most importantly, people who valued and wanted me to succeed.

So, I threw myself into learning everything I could about design, stayed late at the firm, and soaked up knowledge like a sponge.

Over the next few months, I juggled school, my internship, and my part-time job at the grocery store. It was exhausting but exhilarating.

At home, things were… different. My parents seemed unsure how to treat me now. The rent demands stopped. Instead, they asked me about my “little job.”

“So, uh, how’s that design thing going?” Dad would wonder over dinner, but he always avoided my eyes.

“It’s great,” I’d reply, trying to keep things nonchalant. My joy didn’t belong to them. “I’m learning so much.”

Daniel, for his part, seemed bewildered. “I don’t get it,” he complained one day. “Why does Elena get an internship and not me?”

Mom patted his hand. “Well, sweetie, that’s because you’re still young. You’ll get an even better one later.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, they had to placate the favorite.

As the school year progressed, I started putting together my portfolio for college applications. Ava was an incredible mentor, who guided me through the process and helped me choose my best work.

“You’ve got a real talent, Elena,” she told me one afternoon in her office after hours. She had kindly stayed back, so I could finish up my plans. “These schools would be lucky to have you.”

Her words gave me the confidence to aim high. I applied to some of the top design programs in the country, including Ava’s alma mater.

Afterward, the waiting was agony, but finally, it happened. I was in the basement, touching up some paint on my bookshelf, when I heard Mom call down.

“Elena? There’s a big envelope here for you.”

I took the stairs two at a time and ripped the envelope from her hands. “Dear Elena, We are pleased to offer you admission to our School of Design…” My knees went weak, but it only got better!

I couldn’t believe it. Not only had I gotten in, but I’d been offered a full scholarship by the school, the same one Ava attended.

“Well?” Mom asked and gave me a tight smile. “What does it say?”

“I got in. Full ride,” I said, looking up as my eyes watered.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, she went back upstairs. She couldn’t even muster a small congratulation.

My dad said nothing at dinner, and Daniel was somehow angry.

I felt their bitterness. But I didn’t care. Finally, I had what I wanted. Ava held a small celebration for me at the office, and Aunt Teresa held a big bash. It was all I needed.

The next room I decorated was my dorm… then, I redecorated my entire life with colors that shone like my soul, the patterns that made the world unique, and the family I made along the way, who were as supportive as a nice, cozy bed frame that lasts for decades.

When Jason’s phone rings in the middle of the night, he finds his daughter crying. During the conversation, he discovers that her landlord is forcing her out of her place. Jason decides to give the landlord a lesson…

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.