When my parents decided to charge me rent for the basement I had fixed up, they never imagined it would push me toward a better future and leave them regretting their choice.
I had always felt like I was treated differently in my family. It became clear when we moved into a two-bedroom house. My younger brother, Daniel, was given his own room, while I was sent to live in the unfinished basement.
Daniel’s room was bright, fully furnished, and even had a gaming setup. Meanwhile, I got old furniture and a space that felt more like storage than a bedroom.
I remember when they showed me the basement.
Mom smiled. “Elena, isn’t this exciting? So much space!”
I looked around at the cold concrete walls and musty air. “Yeah, super exciting.”
Dad patted my shoulder. “We’ll fix it up later.”
But that never happened. So, I decided to do it myself. I got a job at a grocery store after school, saving every dollar to make the space livable.
My Aunt Teresa was my biggest supporter. She visited on weekends, bringing paint and supplies.
“Alright, Ellie,” she grinned, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s make this place yours.”
We painted the walls, put up curtains, laid down rugs, and added string lights. Bit by bit, the basement became my own little space. When I finally installed LED lights around my bed, I felt proud of what I had built.
Then one day, my parents noticed.
“If you can afford all this,” Mom said, “you can start paying rent.”
I was shocked. “Rent? I’m still in high school.”
Dad crossed his arms. “Time to learn responsibility.”
The amount they asked for meant I’d have no savings for college. It felt unfair, but I had no choice.
Then, a few weeks later, Aunt Teresa brought a friend over for dinner.
“Elena’s basement makeover is amazing!” she said. “She has a real eye for design.”
Her friend, Ava, nodded. “We have a paid internship at my design firm. Are you interested?”
I was speechless. “Yes!”
That opportunity changed my life. I had a future, a goal, and finally, people who truly believed in me.