“She Beat a Homeless Man for Returning Her Purse—But Karma Took Everything…and Left Her Begging on Her Knees!”
It started with a heartless kick. If only Sarah knew that one cruel moment would set off a chain of karma so fierce, her entire world would shatter before her eyes. The market was bustling that afternoon, the air thick with the scent of spices and sweat. Michael, a homeless man with tired eyes and calloused hands, was weaving through the crowd, searching for scraps to survive another day. Fate intervened when he spotted a black leather wallet lying abandoned in the dust—a wallet that belonged to Sarah, the queen of arrogance in her sparkling blue suit and six-inch heels. Michael bent down, picked up the wallet, and hurried after her, hoping to return it before she noticed it missing.
But before he could utter a word, Sarah spun around and landed a brutal kick straight to his stomach. Michael doubled over in agony, coughing up blood as the wallet flew from his hand and spun through the air. “I was just trying to give it back,” he stammered, voice trembling with pain. Sarah snapped, her voice dripping with venom, “Do you think I don’t know a thief when I see one?” She snatched the wallet from the ground, rifled through it, and, finding everything intact, sighed in relief. But her rage was not sated. She slapped Michael across the face—once, twice—her pride swelling as the crowd gasped. “He was only trying to help,” someone whispered, but Sarah scoffed. “This wallet was kept securely in my bag. You think I don’t see through your poor tricks? You even had the audacity to touch me with those dirty hands!”
The crowd murmured, some in agreement, others in silent horror. Sarah rolled her eyes, hissing, “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today, else I would have shown you real madness.” She turned to leave, heels clicking like thunder. Michael, barely able to breathe, accidentally brushed her shoe as he slumped to the ground. Sarah wheeled around, her rage boiling over. “How dare you touch me?” she screamed. “Please, I wasn’t stealing. I was only trying to help,” Michael pleaded, but Sarah smirked and kicked him again, right where the pain was worst. The market women gasped, but none dared intervene. Sarah looked powerful, untouchable.
Michael, bleeding and weak, reached for his phone to call for help. Sarah snatched it from him, her expression morphing into greedy delight. “So you even stole my iPhone 16 Pro Max! Thank God I caught you before you left.” She rifled through his pockets, pulling out a bundle of foreign currency worth thousands of dollars. Sarah waved the money for all to see. “Now tell me how a homeless-looking man like this could have so much money. He’s clearly a thief!” Michael was too weak to resist. Blood dripped from his wound as Sarah spat on him, treating him like trash. The crowd, swayed by her confidence, muttered, “He must be a thief. He deserves it.” One by one, they returned to their stalls, ignoring the bleeding man on the ground.
Just as Michael was about to lose consciousness, a brave girl ran to his side. Amaka, Sarah’s stepsister, knelt beside him, tears in her eyes. She had watched the chaos unfold and knew the bitter truth: Michael was innocent, and Sarah was the real thief. Their family didn’t even own such a phone or have that kind of money. Sarah, always dressed like royalty, was a con artist who loved to play the victim. Amaka had watched Sarah’s every move, but fear kept her frozen. When the crowd dispersed, Amaka rushed to help Michael, her empathy stronger than her fear. With the help of a kind stranger, they rushed Michael to the hospital.
As they wheeled him in, Amaka’s heart raced, praying he would survive. Minutes later, the doctor emerged with a grave look. “He was kicked right where he has undiagnosed appendicitis. He needs emergency surgery or he won’t make it.” Amaka’s shoulders slumped. She had no savings, no friends to call, and only the money her stepmother had given her for errands. Tears streaming down her face, she handed the money to the doctor. “Please, start treatment. I’ll find the rest, I promise.” The surgery was successful. Amaka stayed by Michael’s bedside, refusing to leave until he opened his eyes and gave a weak smile. Late at night, she left quietly, dreading what awaited her at home.
As soon as Amaka opened the gate, she was met with fire and thunder. Her stepmother stood waiting, eyes blazing. “You useless girl, where are you coming from?” Amaka stammered, explaining how she helped a man to the hospital. But her stepmother wasn’t listening. “Where’s the money I gave you?” Amaka whispered, “I used it to pay the hospital bill. Mama, I promise I’ll pay you back.” Her stepmother exploded, beating Amaka mercilessly while Sarah clapped and laughed. “Useless girl! Until you bring back my money, you’ll sleep outside like the pauper you are!” They slammed the door, leaving Amaka sore, humiliated, and alone in the cold. Inside, her wicked stepmother and stepsister devoured a royal meal, bought with someone else’s sweat. Amaka sighed, hoping karma would catch up to them.
That night, as mosquitoes danced on her skin and hunger churned in her belly, Amaka heard Sarah giggling on the phone. “Yes, I have everything here. All the man’s details. He’s richer than we thought. We’re going to be billionaires,” Sarah whispered. Amaka pretended to sleep, wondering what Sarah was plotting. She wished she could escape her wicked house and find peace.
At dawn, Amaka sneaked into the house and rushed to the hospital to check on Michael, but he was gone. “He’s been discharged,” a nurse said. “His family came and paid all the bills.” Amaka heaved a sigh of relief. Now that he was safe, it was time to face her own reality. She returned to the market, hustling to pay back her stepmother’s debt. She carried loads for all kinds of people—some kind, others cruel. One particularly rude woman kicked her whenever she felt like it, but Amaka endured. She preferred the insults in the market to the abuse at home.
Later, a kind woman called out, “Young girl, you’ve been working hard. Come help me, please.” Amaka rushed over, assisted with a smile, and the woman praised her courage. “I’ll pay you ten times your usual charge.” Amaka’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you, Ma,” she said, joy washing over her. She carried the last load cheerfully, rushing to the woman’s car—only for someone to bump into her hard. “Watch where you’re going!” a familiar voice snapped. Amaka turned and froze. It was Sarah, her eyes twisted with disgust and rage. Her fiancé stood beside her, equally surprised. “You!” Sarah screamed. “How dare you touch me with that dirty body?” Amaka bowed her head, apologizing, but Sarah dragged her back by the arm. “You must be mad,” Sarah hissed. “What gave you the guts to talk to me?” Without warning, she pushed Amaka’s load to the ground, crushing her hope of repaying the debt.
Amaka dropped to her knees, picking up the items, but Sarah stamped her feet on them, grinding them into the dirt. “That serves you right, daughter of a common mistress,” Sarah spat. “I could give you the money back, but only if you bow down and lick my shoes.” Amaka’s pride shattered. Her hope was gone. She dropped to her knees, about to bow her head, when a man stepped forward. “No,” he said firmly, his voice calm but powerful. “She doesn’t deserve your respect.” He pulled Amaka into a gentle hug and wiped her tears. Amaka blinked in confusion. Who was this stranger helping her?
Sarah hissed, “Who the hell are you? Because of the suit you borrowed, you think you’re a big man?” Michael looked at her and smirked. “So, you still have the guts to talk to me after everything you did yesterday?” Sarah squinted, then her eyes widened in shock. Fear consumed her, but she tried to mask it. “You again, the thief? Whose suit did you steal this time?” Amaka turned to Michael, confused. “Wait, what?” She stared at him properly—it was the same man from the hospital, but now he looked completely different. He was handsome, confident, and rich. “What’s going on?” she whispered. “How did you go from homeless to this in one night? And your health?”
Michael smiled, then clapped his hands twice. Suddenly, a fleet of luxury cars screeched to a halt, surrounding Sarah and her fiancé. Armed bodyguards formed a tight circle. Sarah froze, her face drained of color. She tried to run, but a guard blocked her path. Michael’s voice was cold. “I think you have something that belongs to me.” Sarah’s legs trembled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. Michael smiled. “Oh, really? You took my phone and thousands of dollars. And you did it in front of everyone.” Sarah fell to her knees, begging for mercy. “I’ll give you back your money and phone. Please spare me.” Michael laughed. “Did you spare me yesterday when I was begging? No. You thought I was a homeless man and treated me like dirt.”
Michael continued, “The application you submitted to my firm was approved. Your salary was worth millions, with an official car and luxury mansion. But your lack of empathy made you lose it all.” The guards searched Sarah and her fiancé, finding a flash drive containing evidence of their scam. Both were arrested, their pleas falling on deaf ears. Amaka stood dumbfounded. Karma had come fast.
Michael hugged Amaka. “You’re a kind-hearted woman and deserve to be rewarded.” He found the kind man who had helped at the hospital and gave him millions of dollars. Other market sellers hid their faces in shame, wishing they had helped. Michael replaced the woman’s destroyed goods in multiple folds. He promised Amaka a brighter future, but she still had to face her wicked stepmother.
When Amaka arrived home, the house was quiet. She tried to pack her belongings, but her stepmother pounced, beating her and blaming her for Sarah’s arrest. Michael arrived, pulling Amaka away and barking, “Enough!” The compound went silent. He turned to the stepmother, eyes cold. “So this is how you treat a girl with a golden heart? A girl who risked her life to save someone she didn’t know, and you reward her with beatings? You don’t deserve this. From now on, your days of suffering are over. I’ll give you a life that will wipe away every pain of your past.”
Michael ordered his guards to remove all the gifts and food items from the stepmother’s house. “If only you had shown her love, you would have been swimming in blessings. Now you’ve proven you don’t deserve any of it.” Amaka’s stepmother fell to her knees, begging for forgiveness, but it was too late. Amaka turned away, the pain she endured as the daughter of a mistress too much to bear. She pleaded with Michael, “Please take me away. I’ve had enough.” Michael dropped to one knee and pulled out a sparkling ring. “Amaka, will you marry me?” Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered. The crowd erupted in cheers. Those who once mocked her now clapped and shouted. This is what happens when you have a good heart. God doesn’t sleep. She suffered, but God remembered her.
Now, over to you: If you were in Amaka’s shoes, would you have helped a stranger on the street? Should Michael forgive Sarah now that justice has been served? Would you forgive a stepmother who made your life a living hell? Drop your thoughts in the comments—someone out there needs to hear your voice.
