I’m Hazel, 20, and my brother Scott has always been my best friend. Since junior year, he’s worked part-time—every dollar he earned went into his dream: buying a graduation car. I watched him count crumpled bills night after night, hope burning bright in his eyes.
When he finally asked our mom and stepdad, Steve, for just 10 percent of the cost, hoping for help, they snapped. “We’re not a bank,” Steve dismissed—and Mom offered no better response.
Still, Scott kept saving. Then, out of the blue, they told him they’d help—on one condition: he first hand over everything he’d saved so they could “calculate their contribution.” He trusted them completely and handed over all his savings without hesitation.
Graduation week arrived—and so did the surprise. A red SUV sat in the driveway—not the car he’d worked so hard for, but the family’s new ride. Steve claimed it was meant for work, not Scott, and laughed it off. Mom even joked that now they could all use it.
Scott stared—his eyes cold and heartbreak laid bare. Then, with icy calm, he said: “You may think I’m an idiot, but I’m better than you. And Mom’s a fool for staying.” Without breaking form, he walked away with his dignity intact.
They looked shocked. I stood up, furious, and told them what everyone else was thinking: “You stole his money!” Their response? That this was “family money.” But it wasn’t. It was Scott’s—and he had earned every cent.
Two days later, Scott and I shared a quiet moment of vindication. Karma had delivered justice without a word. Graduation came and went, Scott still without a car. I offered mine, but he refused. He’ll manage—because he always does.
