My Stepmother ‘Gifted’ Me an Old, Smelly Couch — When She Saw What I Did With It, She Demanded $2,500 From Me

When Nicole’s stepmother calls her saying that she has a gift for her, Nicole goes over to claim her gift. But when she discovers what the gift is, Nicole is torn between keeping her father happy or retaliating. Finally, she accepts the gift and does a complete DIY project on it, ready to claim the rewards of her hard work.

You know you get those moments when you should have just trusted your gut? Yeah, that was me, standing in my stepmother’s basement, staring at the ugliest, smelliest couch I had ever seen.

My stepmother, Susan, had called me earlier that morning with a grand gesture for my birthday. She insisted that she had a “priceless” gift that was too big for her to move alone.

“You’re going to love it, Nicole,” she said. “It’s absolutely priceless! Come over later today, and we’ll show it to you.”

Now, this is the point when I tell you that Susan and I had never been close. In fact, if I’m being honest, she barely tolerated my existence. So, imagine my absolute surprise when she offered me a gift.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Nic,” I said to myself as I got into the car.

I just wanted to see what it was, and I hoped that, for once, she might actually be genuine.

So, I get to my dad’s house, and he tells me that Susan is busy.

“She’s sorting out the basement, honey,” he said. “Susan is finally cleaning out her clutter. It’s about time, to be honest. Come, have a cup of tea.”

“No, let me check out the gift first, Dad,” I said. “I’m so curious!”

He chuckled at me, not seeing my nervousness. I was used to getting random gifts from Susan. For my birthday last year, she got me a set of water bottles and socks. I wanted to know if this year was going to be any different.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get Susan, and then we can have some tea and a slice of cake. Susan made lemon cake this morning.”

I paced in the foyer while my dad went down to the basement. Moments later, I heard them on the stairs.

Then I saw it.

My dad and Susan were making their way out of the basement with the monstrosity of a couch. The fabric was stained and ripped, with a stench that could probably knock out an adult horse.

It looked like it had been neglected for decades.

“Happy Birthday!” Susan beamed, as if she were handing me the keys to a new car.

My dad looked at me expectantly. I knew he wanted me to be happy with the gift. But the gift was horrendous. Although, I knew that if I rejected the gift, then it would hurt him. And Susan knew it. I could see it clearly on her face.

I swallowed my frustration and called my boyfriend to bring his pickup van over.

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes, babe,” Derek said.

“Thank you!” I replied. “I think they want the couch out today, so I need to take it home.”

“Not a problem, Nic,” he said. “I’m just gaming online. But I’ll be done soon.”

I knew that Susan was using me as a free dump and delivery service. That couch wasn’t fit to be in any home. But again, I was determined to keep the peace for my father.

Derek showed up as I was drinking my cup of tea, and we loaded the couch and left for my home. He was going to follow me home, and we planned on having dinner together.

“This couch is rough,” he said. “It looks like it has been through a storm or two in its time.”

My initial plan was to dump it at the curb and let someone else take it, but then something shifted inside me. I wasn’t going to let Susan win.

No, I was going to restore the couch and give it a second life.

First, I had to tackle the smell.

The odor was so strong. It seemed to have a life of its own and only seemed to get stronger as the day went.

I found a DIY deodorizing solution online: white vinegar, water, and a few drops of lavender essential oil. I mixed it up and sprayed it generously over the couch, letting it sit for a few hours.

The vinegar smell was overpowering, but it faded, taking most of the nasty odor with it.

Next, I had to deal with the stains.

The years of spills and neglect had left their mark. I whipped up a cleaning concoction of baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and a small amount of dish soap. With a soft brush in hand, I carefully scrubbed the stained areas, working the mixture into the fabric.

I let it sit for about fifteen minutes before wiping it off with a damp cloth. The transformation was already noticeable. The stains were fading, and I felt optimistic about my restoration project.

But then, I had to deal with the rips and tears. There was no way that a simple needle and thread was going to fix this one.

“Nic, you need material,” Derek said when he was marinating chicken in the kitchen. “There’s no other way than to do a funky patch job.”

“I agree,” I said. “Will you be fine here while I do a quick dash into town?”

Derek nodded.

“But why are you rushing?” Derek asked.

“Because if I don’t do it, then I’m going to end up leaving the couch altogether. And it will be just another sidelined project.”

“Go,” he laughed. “I’ll just finish dinner in the meantime.”

So, I went to the local thrift store and found some fabric that matched reasonably well. I also got random buttons and frills. And even two throw cushions as well.

I used fabric glue to patch the larger holes and an iron-on fabric mender for the smaller tears. Finally, to give the whole couch a more cohesive look, I added some decorative buttons and tufting in key areas, making it look almost intentional.

“Right, give it a rest, Nic,” Derek said as he took the last flatbread out of the pan. “You can finish it off in the morning.”

My arms were exhausted from all the scrubbing, so I was ready to listen to Derek and just sit down and eat everything he had made.

But the next morning, I was back at it. I used my steam cleaner and thoroughly steamed the couch. I spent hours going over every inch of it, bringing the fabric back to life while I imagined every germ evaporating into oblivion.

By the time I was done, the couch looked like something out of a high-end furniture store.

“Damn, Nic,” I said to myself. “Well done, girl.”

Feeling pretty proud of my work, I decided to post the couch on a social media marketplace for $5,000. It was almost a joke because I just wanted to see if anyone would go for it.

I loved the restoration of the couch, but I also just wanted to see if I could make some money from my DIY project.

“What on earth?!” I exclaimed when my phone buzzed with a notification. To my shock, within a day, I got an offer from someone in the ritzy part of town. I couldn’t believe my luck, but I accepted the offer anyway.

“This is just wonderful,” Maggie said.

The moment I had agreed to the sale, she came flying over to my place to test out the couch.

“This couch is going to be perfect for my art studio! Why would you ever want to get rid of it?” she asked.

“I’m just redecorating,” I said sheepishly. “But look, it’s yours to love and enjoy.”

A few days later, Susan showed up at my doorstep, furious. She had seen the post and the fact that the couch had been purchased for $5,000.

“You ungrateful little brat! How dare you sell my gift?” she screamed.

“Susan, you gave me a piece of junk. Actual junk. I put in the time and effort to restore it. The only reason that it was worth anything now is simply because of my work.”

But she didn’t back down.

“It was my couch! I expect you to give me half the money since you sold it. That’s $2,500!”

I couldn’t believe the nerve of her.

“No, Susan. If you wanted to get rid of the couch so badly, you should have sold it yourself. The transformation and the profit, they’re all mine.”

“Oh, you’ll regret this,” she shouted before storming off.

Well, she hasn’t come back. So, I don’t know what she’s planning. But I know that I’ll be getting a call from my dad soon.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

In-Laws Kicked Us Out of the House They Gifted After We Paid for Renovations — Then It Got Even Worse

When Mike’s parents offer him and his family a home, they are over the moon. Mike and Maria have a growing family, and they need the extra space. So, they venture into renovations, making the house a home. But one day, Mike’s parents called, wanting their home back.

When my in-laws offered us a house, we thought it was a dream come true. With three kids and a tight budget, any help came as a blessing.

But, let me be honest with you: the house was far from ideal.

“It’s in the middle of nowhere, Mike,” I told my husband when we were sitting on the couch talking about the possibility of moving into the house.

“It’s miles away from the kids’ school and our jobs! We’ll have to leave a lot earlier just to make it on time,” I said, sighing.

“I know, Maria,” my husband said. “It irritates me to think that the nearest grocery store is about twenty minutes away. But I don’t want to be ungrateful.”

And I understood that. In fact, their gift had come at the perfect moment. We had outgrown our little two-bedroomed house. It was now cluttered, and our three kids had to share one bedroom.

“We’ll do it for the kids,” I said, taking his hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll make it work for them.”

“Think of it as a fresh start, kids,” Mike’s mom said when we went over to their home for dinner. “You’ll love the peace and quiet, and the kids will have a lot of space to run about in. This is going to be good for you.”

“Yes, Mom,” Mike said. “We agree with you. We’re looking forward to this new start and just going on a journey together as a family.”

Read the full story here.

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.