They say money can’t buy happiness, but my stepmom sure thought it could buy a million-dollar smile. The kicker?

She stole from my college fund (which was set up by my late mom) to install her veneers and acted like it wasn’t a big deal. But don’t worry! Sit back, relax, and let me tell you about the day karma grew teeth and bit back.

I’m Kristen, your average 17-year-old with dreams bigger than my stepmom’s ego. My mom passed away when I was young, but she left behind a college fund. It wasn’t huge, but it was a start to secure my future.

My dad, Bob, and I had been adding to it ever since, mostly from my part-time gigs tutoring kids who think “Pi” is something you eat with ice cream. And some babysitting, which paid me weekly.

Everything went well until, ta-da — enter Tracy, my stepmother and the human embodiment of a selfie stick.

This woman spends more time in front of the mirror than a mime pretending to be trapped in a box. I swear, if vanity were an Olympic sport, Tracy would make Narcissus look like an amateur.

She’s so obsessed with appearances. Her clothes, hair, and nails always have to be perfect. It’s like she’s trying to be a real-life Barbie. (Sorry, Barbie!)

She spends hours in front of the mirror but never has time for anything that really matters, like, oh I don’t know, being a decent human. It’s like she’s got a mirror installed in her brain.

One fateful day, I came home to find Tracy grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

“Kristen, darling!” she chirped, her voice sweeter than a hummingbird’s diet. “Guess what your amazing stepmom is going to do?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Finally learn how to use the washing machine without flooding the laundry room?”

Tracy’s smile faltered for a microsecond before returning full force. “No, silly! I’m getting veneers! Isn’t that fabulous?”

“Uh, congrats?” I muttered, wondering why this warranted a full-blown announcement.

“Oh, don’t look so glum!” she gushed. “This is cause for celebration! And the best part? I found a way to make it happen without breaking the bank.”

That’s when my stomach dropped faster than a skydiver with a faulty parachute. “What do you mean?”

Tracy’s smile widened like a Cheshire cat, except her teeth looked more like a set of construction cones dipped in mustard.

“Well, I borrowed a little from your college fund. Just $5,000!”

I stood there, mouth agape, feeling like I’d just been sucker-punched by the Tooth Fairy on steroids. “You did WHAT? You STOLE my college fund?”

Tracy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Stole? I’m family. It’s not a big deal, honey!”

“You had NO RIGHT! That money’s for my future. My mom set it up for me.”

“Oh, save the theatrics! It’s just money. And your father agreed to it,” Tracy winked.

Now, that was a lie bigger than her future dental bill. Dad wouldn’t agree to this in a million years. He’s more likely to willingly sit through a marathon of Tracy’s favorite reality TV shows.

I stormed out, slamming my bedroom door hard enough to make the house shake. I immediately called Dad, who was just as shocked as I was.

“I’ll talk to her,” he promised. In Dad’s terms, that meant “I’ll mention it once and hope it magically resolves itself.”

A few weeks later, Tracy got her veneers. She strutted around the house like she was America’s Next Top Model, flashing her new teeth at every opportunity. It was like living with a deranged lighthouse.

“Oh, Kristen,” she cooed one evening, “don’t forget to smile at your little tutoring class. Although,” she paused, giving me a once-over, “maybe you should keep your mouth closed. You wouldn’t want to scare those kids away with those ugly alligator teeth of yours!”

I bit my tongue so hard I thought I might need veneers myself. “Right,” I muttered. “Because blowing five grand on fake choppers is totally normal, yeah?”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Missy. Remember who puts a roof over your head.”

“Pretty sure that’s still Dad,” I shot back, slamming the door behind me.

A month after her “transformation,” Tracy decided to throw a BBQ to show off her new chompers to the entire neighborhood. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion but with more potato salad.

“Ladies, gather ’round!” Tracy announced on the fateful day, clinking her wine glass with a spoon. “I simply must tell you about my transformation!”

Yeah, more like a sci-fi metamorphosis from yellow-stained vampire fangs to a Hollywood smile! I rolled my eyes so hard I could practically see my brain.

“It’s all thanks to the marvelous Dr. Kapoor,” Tracy gushed. “He’s not just a dentist, he’s an artist! A smile sculptor! A tooth whisperer!”

“Did he whisper to your wallet too?” I muttered under my breath.

Tracy continued, oblivious to my sarcasm. “And of course, some smart investments made it all possible!”

I nearly choked on my lemonade. Smart investments? Is that what we’re calling theft these days?

Just then, Tracy set her wine glass down and reached for a piece of corn on the cob. “You know, ladies, life is all about taking chances and—”

C-R-A-C-K!

The sound echoed across the backyard like a gunshot. Tracy’s eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth faster than you could say “dental disaster.”

“Oh my God, Tracy! Are you okay?” one of her friends gasped.

But Tracy was far from okay. There, nestled in the butter of her corn on the cob, was one of her precious veneers and whatever was left of her rotten tooth. The gap in her smile was so big, it could swallow a whole lollipop!

“I… I…” Tracy stammered, suddenly sounding like she was auditioning for the role of Sylvester the Cat. “Ekthcuthe me!”

She bolted into the house, leaving behind a yard full of bewildered guests and one very satisfied stepdaughter trying desperately not to burst into maniacal laughter.

The aftermath was more glorious than I could have imagined. Tracy became a dental hermit, refusing to leave the house. When she finally called Dr. Kapoor, I overheard a conversation that was music to my ears and nails on a chalkboard to hers.
“What do you mean it’ll cotht more to fikth?” Tracy shrieked into the phone. “Thith ith your fault! You thaid thethe were top quality!”

Turns out, Tracy had opted for the bargain basement veneers. The cherry on the cake? She would have to pay a hefty chunk to redo the whole veneer! Karma, as they say, is a witch with a capital B, and she had just given Tracy a dental spanking.

Dad, finally growing a backbone (I checked outside for flying pigs), confronted Tracy that evening.

“We need to talk about Kristen’s college fund,” he said, his voice firm (for the first time in a very looooong time! Way to go, Daddy!)

Tracy, still hiding her broken smile behind her hand, tried to deflect. “Bob, honey, now’th not the thime. Can’t you thee I’m in a crithith?”

Dad stood his ground. “Crisis? You? No, Tracy. This ends now. You’re going to pay back every cent you took from Kristen’s fund. And if you can’t… well, I think we need to reevaluate this whole situation.”

For the first time since I’d known her, Tracy looked genuinely scared. It was like watching a deer in the headlights (if the deer had really bad dental work and a speech impediment!)

In the weeks that followed, Tracy became a recluse that would make even the most solitary monk seem like a party animal.

The neighborhood buzzed with gossip about her “dental disaster,” and she couldn’t show her face without someone asking about her “million-dollar thmile.”

As for me? Well, Dad made good on his promise. He’s been working overtime to rebuild my college fund, and Tracy’s been suspiciously quiet about her spending habits.

I guess it’s hard to argue when you sound like you’re trying to whistle through a mouthful of marbles.

The other day, I caught her staring longingly at a magazine ad for dental implants. I couldn’t resist the opportunity for a little payback.

“Hey, Tracy,” I called out, flashing her my perfectly imperfect “alligator-tooth” smile. “Need thome invethment advithe?”

She scowled and stomped off, but I swear I saw Dad trying to hide a smirk.

So yeah, my stepmom stole $5,000 from my college fund for a set of fake teeth that made her sound like she was auditioning for the role of the Big Bad Wolf with a speech impediment. But in the end? Karma gave her something to really chew on…

And me? I learned that sometimes, the most valuable things in life aren’t the ones you can buy. They’re the lessons you learn along the way, and the satisfaction of watching justice being served, one broken veneer at a time.

Plus, I now have enough material to write a bestselling memoir: From Fangs to Fortune: How My Stepmom’s Dental Disaster Saved My College Fund.” How is it?

And who knows? Maybe I’ll even dedicate it to Tracy. After all, without her, I wouldn’t have this toothsome tale to tell.