Susan, my stepmother, gave me a call earlier that morning to surprise me with a lavish birthday present. She claimed to have a “priceless” present that was too large for her to transport by herself. Nicole, you’re going to adore it, she exclaimed. It is truly valuable! Later today, stop over, and we’ll show you.” This is where I inform you that my relationship with Susan was never close. If I’m being really honest, she hardly even acknowledged my presence. You can only imagine how shocked I was when she presented me with a gift. I told myself, “Curiosity killed the cat, Nic,” as I climbed into the car. All I wanted to do was find out, and hope that maybe, just once, she was sincere.When I arrive at my dad’s house, he informs me that Susan is occupied. “She’s sorting out the basement, honey,” he replied. “At last, Susan is clearing her clutter. To tell the truth, it’s about time. Grab a cup of tea, please.” “No, let me check out the gift first, Dad,” I replied. “I’m so curious!” He laughed without acknowledging my anxiety. Susan has a way with unplanned presents. She sent me socks and water bottles for my birthday last year. I pondered what would be different in this year. “All right,” he replied. “After I get Susan, we can enjoy some tea and a piece of cake. This morning, Susan baked a lemon cake.”My dad walked to the basement, and I paced the entryway. I heard them on the stairs a short while later. Then I caught sight of it.My dad was carrying the behemoth of a couch out of the basement with Susan. The fabric was torn and discoloured, and the stink was strong enough to put out an adult horse! It seems to have been ignored for many years! “Happy Birthday!” Susan grinned, like she was giving me the keys to a brand-new vehicle. With expectation, my father gazed at me, wanting me to be pleased with the present. However, it was terrible! Susan knew that rejecting it would upset him. It was evident on her face. I contacted my boyfriend to come over in his van, swallowing my frustration. Derek remarked, “Baby, I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” I said, “Thank you!” back. “I think they want the couch out today, so I need to take it home.” “It’s not an issue, Nic,” he replied. “I just play online games. But I’ll shortly finish.”I was aware that Susan was taking advantage of me for free labour and delivery. There was no home for that couch. Once more, though, I was committed to maintaining harmony for my dad. I was sipping my tea when Derek arrived, and together we loaded the couch and headed for my house. He was going to accompany me home, and we were going to share dinner. “This couch is quite rough,” he remarked. “Looks like it’s been through a storm or two.” I was going to throw it out on the curb and let someone else take it, but then I had a change of heart. Susan was not going to win. I made the decision to revive and refurbish the couch. And so started a project that I never would have imagined would produce unexpected effects. I dealt with the smell first.There was an odour emanating from the couch that seemed to have its own existence. And as the day wore on, the smell just grew worse. Fortunately, I was able to locate a DIY deodorising solution on online that called for white vinegar, water, and a small amount of lavender essential oil. I thoroughly blended it and liberally misted the couch, allowing it to remain for several hours. The smell of vinegar was strong, but it soon subsided and most of the unpleasant scent went with it. I had to take care of the stains next. I mixed baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and a tiny bit of dish soap to make a cleaning solution because the years of spills and disuse had left their marks. I worked the mixture into the fabric by gently cleaning the soiled areas with a delicate brush.I removed it with a moist cloth after letting it sit for roughly fifteen minutes. It was easy to see how things had changed. The stains were starting to come off, and I had hope for my restoration endeavour. The tears and rips, meanwhile, were another story. This could not be fixed with only a needle and some thread. Derek replied, “Nic, you need material,” while he was in the kitchen marinating chicken. “There’s no other way than to do a funky patch job.” “Yes,” I said. “Will you be fine here while I do a quick dash into town?”Derek gave a nod. “But why are you rushing?” Derek enquired.“Because if I don’t, it’ll end up as another sidelined project.” “Go,” he chuckled. “I’ll finish dinner in the meantime.” I went to the thrift store in my neighbourhood and discovered two throw cushions, frills, and a nicely matched piece of fabric. For the larger holes, I used fabric glue, and for the tiny tears, I used an iron-on fabric mender. Lastly, I added some decorative buttons and tufting in strategic places to give the entire couch a more unified appearance that almost looks deliberate. Derek remarked, “Alright, Nic, give it a break,” pulling the last flatbread from the pan. “You can finish it off in the morning.” I was ready to listen to Derek and just sit down and eat everything he had cooked because my arms were tired from all the washing. But I was at it again the following morning. I gave the couch a good steaming with my steam cleaner. I meticulously examined every square inch of it for hours, reviving the fabric as I visualised every germ disappearing into thin air.The couch looked like it belonged in a high-end furniture store by the time I finished. “Damn, Nic!” I told myself. “Well done, girl.” I decided to sell the couch on a social media marketplace for $5,000 because I was rather pleased with my work. I was only trying to test if anyone would go for it, so it was almost a joke. Although I was in love with how the couch was restored, I also wanted to see whether my do-it-yourself project could bring me some cash. “What on earth?!” When my phone buzzed with a notification, I let out a loud cry. My couch was ready to be bought by a Maggie! I was shocked to receive an offer from someone in the posh area of town in less than a day. Despite my disbelief at my good fortune, I took the offer. Maggie exclaimed, “This is just wonderful.”She flew over to my house to try out the couch as soon as I said yes to the sale. “My creative studio is going to look amazing with this couch! She questioned, “Why would you ever want to get rid of it?” Shyly, “I’m just redecorating,” I murmured. “But look, it’s yours to love and enjoy.” Susan arrived at my door a few days later, enraged. She was aware of the post and the $5,000 price tag attached to the couch. “You petty, ungrateful brat! “How dare you market my talent?” She let out a cry.“You gave me some garbage, Susan. Real garbage. I took the time and made the effort to fix it. It was only worth anything now because of my labour alone.” She didn’t give up, though. “It was my sofa!” You sold it, thus I expect half of the money back. That amounts to $2,500.I was astounded by her nerve. “Susan, no. You need to have handled the furniture sale yourself if that was your goal. I own the transformation and the profit. She said, “You’ll regret this!” and walked away.She hasn’t returned, so I’m not sure what plans she has. However, I’m sure my dad will call me shortly.How would you have responded in that situation?