 Mommy, you misbehaved. Daddy, you've been naughty too. Now both of you, go sit in the corner. If you like true revenge stories, you found the best place for your vengeful needs. I create them with fleaky visuals, dipped in artificial love. Not all parents gave life directly, but nonetheless, most parents did make the kid's life better. These are true stories, in which, this was not the case. So much so, the kid's life actually worsened with their presence. Don't feel too bad though, because they made sure, to return the favor. We start off with a story about a selfish and cruel stepfather, who got rid of a kid's most prized possessions and thinks the kid is a bongo. In the end, he endures the same, while getting his nose rubbed in it. Followed by a kid that loses his parents tragically, and ends up with a family, that would make Harry Potter's foster parents, blush. Lastly. A story in which the biological parents, don't seem to care much for their children. They're forcing them fend for themselves. But karma had different plans, and turns the table on them. Forcing the parents to end up in dire need of help. Before we start, make sure to tell the like button you're pregnant, on Father's Day. But tell him next year on April's first, that it was just a joke. Gotcha, April fools. Let's dive in. Naturally, viewer discretion is advised. These revenge acts might be disturbing to snowflakes. When I was 15, my mom started dating a man she met on a dating website. I didn't like him the first time I met him, but nonetheless, two months later he moved into the house. About three weeks after he moved in, he took my skateboards, self-built half pipe, ramps, BMX bike, ice hockey gear, and many other things to the dump one day while I was at school. He said he did this because, he didn't want all of my crap cluttering up his garage. Maybe two months later, the first time it wasn't just verbal. I got up from the dinner table, without asking to be excused. For this unforgivable act of disrespect, he punched me in the stomach. From there on out, it escalated into full-fledged beatdowns, for the smallest perceived slight to his authority. One day, he decided to take my extensive Pokemon card collection, even more extensive comic book collection, my Game Boy and PlayStation with all the assorted games, my fantasy and sci-fi book collection and got rid of it all. He did so because. 15 year old boys, should be playing football and baseball, not being a nerd playing with Pokemon cards, reading comics and books. I would like to add that he was a middle school teacher, and in his off-time refereed and umpired local middle and high school sports games. My mom never intervened, and in fact acquiesced when he demanded that she stop giving me lunch money, because. The little prick, will just spend it on comics, and other nerdy crap. One day, I took around $3 of change out of his change jar, so that I could buy a slice of pizza and some fruit punch during lunch at school, because I was tired of being hungry. My twin sister was always a bit of a crappy snickerdoodle, and frequently blackmailed me into doing her chores from a young age. One time when she started doing this, I was just fed up and refused to do it, so she told him what I had done. This man actually called the police and pressed a larceny charge against me, and once the police had left, proceeded to teach me a lesson by going Donkey Kong on me. At that point, I ran away. When the cops found me and returned me to my home, I found out that he had been trying to talk my mom and descending me away to military school or something of that nature. I ran away again, and between having run away several times and enduring the aftermath of the larceny charge, I ended up turning 16 in juvenile detention. I spent the next couple years miserable and afraid, frequently contemplating ending at all. Especially one specific time I was out on my own. During these times I didn't speak to my mom though, and I didn't do so for several more years. We eventually reconciled, and by that point they had married. He was different towards me now, but it wasn't because he was a changed man. I was a lot bigger than I had been as a young teenager, and had gotten into weight lifting. So he no longer acted like he was going to punch me to make me flinch, much less actually hit me. We'd basically avoided each other for the most part. Everything started changing after a big event. My mother found out that she had stage 4 cancer, and no longer wanted to waste any of the time she had left with him. She had a lawyer draft up a separation agreement, whereby he would receive a set amount of money upon separation, and would have 45 days to retrieve his belongings from the house. He had spent his entire inheritance in six months and then had to sell his mother's house that he grew up in, in order to settle his debts shortly before they started dating. My mother bought the house back from the bank before they married. She allowed him to keep the house and he moved back into that same house. My mother passed away about nine months after their separation and despite the agreement, had been allowing him to come and get his stuff piecemeal. But that's where I came in, and I put an immediate end to that. He was passed the deadline to remove his personal effects and they were now legally mined to dispose of, as I saw fit. I sold his baseball card collection that was worth around $14,000. I proceeded to sell his autographs sports member Billia, roughly $11,000, and also sold all of his woodworking equipment he loved so much. Sold it all along with several finished pieces of furniture that he had made with his love and sweat, which was worth around $6,500. I kept his mother's engagement ring, platinum-band three diamonds, roughly two carats, wedding band, his coin collection, happens to be so, that I also collect coins and some tools and other odds and ends. Now comes the real fun. Around a month ago, I finally saw him at the grocery store. As he was leaving I approached him. I told him I had sold his collections as he was pushing his card out towards his car. He reacted exactly as I expected. He took a swing at me multiple times. I already had my phone ready to dial 911. Several of these punches missed and the ones that did connect didn't have much effect because he's nowhere near as strong as he was 20 years ago in his 40s. And I was no longer a skinny little 15 year old. That was scared of him. He continued to try to punch me as I spoke to the 911 operator. During this he was actively ramming his grocery cart into my new Toyota, even as the police officers pulled into the parking lot. He was arrested for assault, communicating threats and destruction of property. As a result, he lost his job and pension at the local middle school, and because he had never learned how to save money while married to my somewhat wealthy mother, he ended up having to sell his mother's house. All because he hired an expensive lawyer, thinking he could somehow beat the charges. My nephew, who was on the football team, made it well known to his friends that he not only had just been arrested and convicted of assault, as well as other charges. But that he had also beat me as a child, causing several parents to call for him to resign from refereeing and umpiring for local sports games. My niece and my girlfriend's much younger sister are enrolled at the middle school where he worked. They said that he was not only universally disliked, but when he came up to the school to get his belongings, he made a big scene and ended up hysterically crying as he was leaving. At least that's what they've heard from the kids who were attending summer school at the time. His son, who he was equally abusive towards as a child, refused to take him in or help him out. So the abusive stepfather ended up having to take a job as a cashier at Walmart, so he could afford the rent on his crappy little trailer in an absolutely awful neighborhood. Even though that Walmart is not the closest Walmart to my house, that is now the only place where I go grocery shopping or to purchase anything that I need. I purposely stand in line longer than I need, just so that he can be the one who has the pleasure of ringing up my purchases. The first time I went through his line, he attempted to ring up multiple items more than once to overcharge me. When I called him on it, he said that I was mistaken. I asked for a manager, and the manager believed him that it was an accident. Nonetheless, I still saw it as a petty win due to him learning that he can't get away with it. The second time, I made sure to be as nice as possible and had to ask for a manager because he was overwhelmingly rude. The people in line behind me backed me up and he got in some trouble for that. Every time I go there and step into line, I see him die a little bit inside, which gives me complete satisfaction. Sometimes, I'll say that I'm paying with exact change and as I'm about to hand him the money I'll say, oh. I didn't realize I had rare coin from his collection in my pocket. I guess I'll use my credit card. I just sold his expensive ratcheting wrench set, so on Monday when he works again, I'm going to go buy my daughter one of their better-above ground pools. As he's ringing it out I'll tell him, I know that my daughter is just going to love this pool. It's not like I would have ever used those expensive ratcheting wrenches anyway. My parents both passed in a hit-and-run car accident when I was 10. My dad was only 39 and my mom 35. Neither of them had relatives who could take me in. We lived in a really small, church-going town where everyone knew one another. My dad had been the heir to a small fortune and didn't really have to work. He didn't like the big city, so him and my mom decided to move to a small town, where he could have an antique store. My mom was into collecting antiques. I would have had to go the orphanage route when they passed, but this couple from the church, who I will call Mr. and Mrs. Banks, made this big to-do in church about how a little girl needs a loving home, and God has given us this joyous task of bringing her up in our home in hearts. It's been a long time, I don't remember if those were Mrs. Banks' exact words, but they were something cringe-worthy like that. The Banks had their own daughter named Kitty, who was a year older than me. That should have meant we would be super good friends, but Kitty had her own thing going and practically ignored me. She was a holier-than-thou type. The Banks received a stipend from the state to take care of me, but they also received checks every month from my dad's estate, which was supposed to take care of me until I was 18. When I did turn 18, I would receive full control of my inheritance. The Banks weren't exactly cruel to me, but in private, it was clear they were just using me to build up their reputation in town. In front of other people, they'd fawn over me in a sick, cotton candy fashion that made me uncomfortable. They'd also make Kitty be nice to me in public, which she resented. The Banks would also put on a big show whenever social workers came to check up on me. They'd coach me before the lady would come, and tell me to praise how godly and wonderful they were. After the social worker left, they'd go right back to ignoring me and spending my dad's money on crap on the internet or on trips. It was clear to me even as a tween teen that the Banks were only using some of my endowment, both from the state and from my trust, to take care of me. The rest, they spent on themselves. As I grew older, I could see that my foster parents would pretend as though they had great business acumen, and that's why they had more money and could buy a new Volvo. Where I'm from, a new Volvo is an event. After this, they immediately went on a trip to New York and bought fancy clothes for Kitty. When I was 17, I noticed that my foster parents were stockpiling away my trust fund money to pay for Kitty's tuition to college. Throughout this time, the Banks would never outright say so, but would heavily imply that I owe them, and that once I got control of my inheritance, that I should be godly and generous and give them some material compensation for all the work they did to raise me. I think they already got lots of material, especially since Mrs. Banks practically stole all of my mom's antiques from her store and kept them for herself, gave them to Kitty, or to her other relatives. One thing my mom never kept at her store was an extremely expensive, Baroque-era fine china set, absolutely complete and worth tens of thousands of dollars. Not a replica, but the real deal. So real, Napoleon Bonaparte himself might well have eaten a steak off those plates. Probably not, but you get the point. It was my china set of course, but Mrs. Banks thought I was an idiot and didn't know that. She would always talk about how this china set will go to Kitty on her wedding day. Mrs. Banks assumed that since I always dressed like a tomboy, didn't care about all my mom's antiques that Mrs. Banks stole or gave away, that I just didn't care about the china set. When I was a kid, my mom told me that things were things and not to obsess over them. So, having the fru fru china set for myself wasn't an issue. What was an issue, was Mrs. Banks acting like it was hers to give away. Wrong, lady. So, once Kitty went off to college thanks to my biological mom and dad's money, I had to make my own plans. I had always done well in school and had actually gotten a partial scholarship to attend school out of state. The rest, I could easily pay for with my inheritance, which I would very soon have control of. For usual, Mr. and Mrs. Banks were haranguing me about how I owed them compensation and since I was going to be rich soon, I ought to share the wealth. I figured that over the past seven years, they probably stole or misappropriated more than $200,000 of my parents' money to say nothing of the state money they misused. I think they more than shared the wealth. I never promised anything, I just smiled and kept a tally of every single bank statement. I got them quarterly, that my trust issued over the years. The Banks family never shared them with me, of course, but when I asked the actual bank for a rundown, they were more than happy to oblige. I also wrote down every single major purchase my foster parents clearly made over the past seven years, with money that was clearly beyond their means as a housewife and an insurance salesman. Things such as a $40,000 car for cash, I used $20,000 car for cash that they gave to Kitty, trips to Hawaii, New York, cash gifts to the church that made them look super generous at my deceased parents' expense. I kept it all in a nice, three-ring binder. I already arranged my travel to my new campus. I didn't have much stuff at the Banks house anyway, and had zero intention of coming back, at least to their home. The Banks knew I was leaving but didn't bother seeing me off, because they assumed I'd come back to give them their due. I waited for our church's yearly antique sale extravaganza, set to begin in three days. Per usual, the Banks donated all sorts of random stuff, many of it knickknacks that used to belong to my mom and technically belong to me. They weren't shy about giving away my stuff and taking credit for it. While Mr. and Mrs. Banks were on one of their shopping sprees with my parents' money and away from their house, I boxed up the china set and brought it to church. I told the rummage sale committee that Mrs. Banks wanted to donate the priceless antiques for sale, all benefits to go to the church. This donation is made in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Banks. I was being fair. If Mrs. Banks was really so godly, she would be delighted that such a wonderful donation would be made in her name. Sadly, I knew she'd go the other way because she was faker than an adult TV star with implants. The ladies were flabbergasted, especially when I told them the appraisal of the set's value. I also told them that if they needed proof of ownership and right to sell, to contact the number of a certain attorney in New York. They thanked me profusely and praised the Lord Jesus for Mrs. Banks' generosity. This would be the most expensive item in their sales history. Everyone knew no one could afford to buy the set outright, but everyone would love to buy the piece's piecemeal. Like, I got a cup and saucer, or I got one of the chargers. I got an egg cup. The Banks were supposed to work the sale the second day and I wasn't there. What I did hear was that my foster mom went ballistic when she saw her China set for sale, and that it was a huge hit, and ladies from all over the county had bought pieces of it. And it raised a considerable amount of money for the church. My foster mom threw a tantrum and said that I had stolen the set from her house. The ladies at the church explained that I had made the donation in her name, and she was getting credit for the donation to the church. My foster mom was practically yanking her hair out, according to what I heard later. She was trying to track down who had bought pieces and trying to get them back. Of course, she was unsuccessful. What she was successful in was looking like a grade A douchebag. The entire church thought she was selfish and materialistic while acting very ungodly, especially the way she cursed her foster daughter. A week later, my foster parents received a package by registered mail from me and my attorney. It contained my binder where I showed my bank statements and also a list of all their spending extravagances. It also contained a warning from my attorney that should they ever try to contact me again for money, that they will receive a bill and a court date. That was that. 10 years later, I work as a third grade teacher. I'm married to an accountant, and we have a three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter. Kitty ended up working through college, and as we've gotten older, we've reconnected. She apologized for the way she acted when we were kids. We're friends now and see each other multiple times a year, often just for lunch. She's an elementary school teacher too and married to an engineer. She has a four-year-old daughter. Both of our older kids play together when our families meet. I can proudly say we both have our own wedding china pieces. She has gone to a lot of therapy due to her toxic parents. She tells me, as for her parents, they still live in their small town because they're too broke to move. Their reputation is of being that couple who drove both their children away and stole money from that poor little girl whose parents died, and they tried to steal money from Jesus when they wind about getting their Baroque china back. I hope your Volvo was worth it, A-Holes. This is the story of my revenge against my parents, but first a bit of background. Keep in mind I live in Puerto Rico, things are different here. My dad was a heartless person and my mom was a negligent excuse of a mom. I had two siblings, one brother and one sister. For 17 years of my life, I had to swallow every single. I deserve it. Every, we don't have any money, and especially every, nobody is going to listen to a kid because everything I would say would be seen as a lie because it was just. My point of view and imagination. Anyway, let's get to the story. Alberto had already have been mistreating me for a long time. I won't go into many specifics, but the story starts from the point where I didn't care anymore. So I started to retaliate by doing small things, calling our version of CPS when he and my mom didn't have any food for me or my siblings. Then they would buy the food the day CPS would come, only to take it away or toss it the next day as a punishment. After this, I became a little more adventurous and bold, you might say, by showing the wounds and scars to anyone interested. Alberto would find out and would be fuming like he was spawn of Lucifer himself. He would get his braided leather belt. From my point of view, a seven-year-old scared kid, I was terrified of that belt. That was like a nine-tail whip. I leave the end result to your imagination. After he was done, he would threaten by emphasizing, it would only get worse. My mom knew, but she wouldn't intervene at all. She would make excuses to cover for him. Later, when my parents decided they were divorcing, my parents would even be like this in public places. There never were any consequences, especially for my dad, because he had friends everywhere and a pristine reputation. The thing was that there were documented records of the hospital visits and records in the police station. But some relevant documents mysteriously disappeared by the court date or weren't used at all. I don't know how exactly, but they didn't know I kept tabs on everything. After the divorce, my brother stayed with my dad. For him, the cycle continued unfortunately, but it wouldn't be for too long. While my sister and I stayed with our careless mom by default, grandparents have no right for custody where I lived. Now, more about my trophy mom. She had strange friends over all the time, even when she was married, at least the last year or so of it. Sometimes I would headbutt with either my mom or her one of her strange friends. One day, this strange friend said I wasn't helping in the house. Emphasizing this is the big problem in our household. Some days after, my mom decides to have a chat with me one afternoon. She blatantly told me. You have to leave my house. My sister overheard and her head pops out of behind the door, asking who would take care of her if her brother is gone. My mom told her. Then you go too. I was a minor during that time, we both were. We were still able to go to our college classes and we kept going, sleeping on the streets for three weeks. I knew someone that was able to give my sister a room for some time, but it meant I would stay on the streets for some longer. I told her I would be fine and not to worry. I remember feeling hopeless, angry while I was shaking as I told her. As if this wasn't dreadful enough. I then heard that in our social circle, my mom would explain our disappearance with an even more crazy lie. She would tell others that I left with my sister because I kidnapped her. Revenge mode activated. Believe it or not, our parents were still upstanding citizens in our community. I knew this was their Achilles heel so that was the first step. I divulge all the information about how they really treated us to the whole community. I even contacted the local press. Alberto's downfall began as rumors spread across his workplace. That happens to be a college campus. I kept taps on all the things that happened, including all the lies my mom told in the hospital. So I make this also known with the permission of the hospital staff. This wasn't enough, I went on to step two. My mom's house had an issue where some parts would get slippery when there was water on it. The aftermath was that she fell and broke her ankle to the point the doctor had to put bars and screws in there like there's no tomorrow just to keep it together. I will admit that I made sure nobody would come to help her during her time of healing. The one strange friend was reluctant to leave her alone so that friend actually stayed and tried to help but the strain was too brutal to their relationship. She was in bed for months, almost a year to recover but she never really did completely. Since she was in a dire need of help, she started begging me for help. I kept feeding her scraps but would refuse in the end, this would go on until I decided she had learned her lesson. So that last time I kept feeding her scraps, I told her I would come to help but I found it to be the perfect moment to relieve my burdens onto her. I told her in all honesty, you have been a careless skank all these years, tell me one reason other than you gave birth to us. As she stuttered, I immediately left her in her soil diapers. After this, my attention went to my saint dad. He didn't only utilize my siblings and I as drums. He had old girlfriends that weren't fond of his darker side. I contacted them, presented them with our situation. The proof I had of it and asked them to also get an order of protection out on him. This would validate my charges inside of the story. There would be a history created around what actually happened domestically. So I could get enough evidence to get a permanent order of protection for me and my siblings too. He would drunk drive and have small crashes with his car. As I said, I would keep tabs on everything. I documented these crashes, damages and incidents that were alcohol related for good measure. So I create a report of drunk driving and all the evidence I had. The aftermath was glorious. As some time later, his license got revoked which in turn caused issues with his job. I nudged them by letting them know directly about the record I have of him which in turn got him demoted and in probation. Funny bonus point. I know when he's at work, they only let him work with other men from now on to avoid any potential lawsuits. I spoke to the bank who would finance the renovations of his new house. I let them know about the report and the employment situation. Some time later, they got dad to stop his renovations on the house and his credit tanked greatly. From then on, he had a rough time making ends meet while carrying lots of debt while trying to maintain paying child support to my mom. Even though my mom kicked us out, she still received child support through my dad. And when he tried to stop paying, I sided with my mom. Small price to pay for him to get arrested and forced to pay child support again. He got to a severe depression and took sleepments to cope. Some time after, my sister and I went to my dad's place to visit out brother. Roberto was in the back, self handling the renovation area I assume. I noticed he must have fell in the renovation area and was stuck, unable to shout to get help. I just stared at him for a moment, then walked away, stating that my dad was at the bar so nobody would look for him. He spent the whole night in the back of the house, the half renovation, filled with cuts, gashes and a few bruises, I think. Little side note, I don't have a grudge anymore and the way they treated us was without limitations. He was awful to all of us and she refused to and didn't try to believe and see. We were struggling as kids. Thank you for enjoying this episode, which was made with artificial love. 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