When my stepmother Susan called, saying she had a “priceless” birthday gift for me, I almost didn’t go. We were never close, and her past “gifts” included socks and water bottles.

But curiosity won. In her basement, I found it — a stained, ripped, foul-smelling couch that looked like it had survived a flood. Rejecting it would upset my dad, so I forced a smile, called my boyfriend for help, and hauled the eyesore home.

My first instinct was to dump it on the curb. But then I thought, Why not turn this into something beautiful?I scrubbed, deodorized, patched holes with thrifted fabric, added tufting and buttons, then steamed every inch. By the end, it looked like it belonged in a designer showroom.

For fun, I listed it online for $5,000, never expecting a bite. Within 24 hours, a buyer from the fancy part of town showed up and happily paid full price. Days later, Susan stormed to my door, waving her arms. “You sold my couch? I want $2,500 — half!”

I didn’t flinch. “You gave me junk. I invested the time, effort, and money to make it valuable. That profit is mine.” She left fuming. My dad hasn’t called yet, but I’m ready. That “gift” might have been her way of dumping trash on me — instead, it turned into the sweetest birthday present I’ve ever had.