I could tell from her tone that this wasn’t meant to be a thoughtful gift. She was practically mocking my profession. “Here’s a little project for you,” she said, a fake sweetness coating her words. My friends looked at me nervously, waiting for me to explode. But I held my cool. Inside, I knew exactly what this was: a challenge. And if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s back down from a challenge.
The very next day, I had the Mustang towed to my garage. Beneath all that rust and grime, I saw the same potential my dad used to point out when we worked on old junkers together. For the next six months, I immersed myself in the restoration. Late nights and weekends were spent meticulously sourcing parts, sanding down the body, and coaxing the engine back to life. My savings took a hit, but it was worth every penny. By the time I finished, the Mustang gleamed with a glossy black paint job, and its engine purred like it was fresh off the factory floor. It was worth at least twenty grand—maybe more.
Henry was awestruck by what I’d done. “You’ve turned this disaster into a masterpiece,” he said, beaming. “Mom has no idea what she started.”
Word got around that I’d resurrected an old, worthless heap into something that turned heads on the highway. Of course, it didn’t take long for Christine to catch wind. One day, she stormed into my garage, clutching some paperwork and declaring, “That car is still mine. I want it back.”
I couldn’t believe the audacity. “Excuse me? You gave me this car as a birthday gift,” I reminded her, my anger flaring.
Her eyes narrowed, and she threw me one of her trademark smug smiles. “I never said you could keep it. You had your fun. Now I’m taking it back to sell it myself.”
Thankfully, I’m a stickler for documentation. I had receipts for every single bolt, piece of metal, and quart of paint. I also had a stack of photos showing the car’s progress, plus testimonies from friends who heard Christine pronounce it my birthday gift. So when she threatened to sue, I stood my ground. I hired a lawyer, and we went to court.
The judge took one look at the mountain of evidence and ruled firmly in my favor. I’d also kept track of the title transfer—one of the first things I did when I began the restoration—so there was no question. The car was legally mine, and Christine had to foot my legal bills to top it all off.
I wish I could say the victory ended there, but the best was yet to come. I listed the Mustang for sale and got a cool $20,000 for it. With that money, I bought myself a newer car and funded an epic cross-country road trip with Henry. We explored scenic highways, visited legendary car shows, and shared the kind of memories I never thought we’d get to make.
Christine wasn’t exactly thrilled with the outcome, but Henry finally put his foot down and told her if she couldn’t accept me and respect my decisions, she was no longer welcome in our lives. Since then, she’s mostly stayed out of our business.
She tried to humiliate me, but I turned her “gift” into something extraordinary. If she was hoping to break my spirit, she chose the wrong mechanic.