You know that moment when life kicks you while you’re already down? My scheming neighbor thought she could pull a fast one on a broke single mom like me. She tricked me into buying her busted car and figured she’d pocket my hard-earned money.

But the universe had other plans.

Three years ago, my world crumbled when my husband Dan died in that terrible accident on Highway 52. One minute I was a happy wife planning our kids’ summer vacation, the next I was a 30-year-old widow drowning in bills and heartbreak.

I started pulling double duty like slinging hash at Mel’s Diner during the day and scrubbing office floors at night while my sweet mom watches my children, Dora and Ethan.

Last Tuesday morning, my ancient minivan finally wheezed its last breath in the grocery store parking lot.

Think black smoke, terrible grinding noise… the whole dramatic death scene.

I sat there staring at the steering wheel, fighting back tears because I knew what this meant: it was another expense I couldn’t afford.

That’s when Cheryl appeared, strutting across the parking lot like she owned the place.

My neighbor’s got this way about her, you know? All flashy jewelry and perfect makeup, always bragging about her latest conquest or amazing bargain.

“April, honey!” she called out, her heels clicking on the asphalt. “Car trouble?”

I wiped my eyes quickly.

“Yeah, looks like she’s finally done for.”

Cheryl examined her perfectly manicured nails. “You know what? This might be your lucky day!

I’ve got this little Toyota just sitting in my garage… barely driven. My nephew Tommy used it for like six months before he moved to California.”

My heart jumped.

“Really? How much?”

“Well, normally I’d ask three grand, but seeing as we’re neighbors… $2,500!

It’s practically a steal, you know?!”

I should’ve known something was off when Cheryl insisted on meeting me at 7 a.m. sharp the next morning. Who does car sales at dawn unless they’re trying to hide something?

“Sorry it’s so early,” she said, not looking sorry at all.

“I’ve got yoga at nine, then brunch with my new boyfriend Marcus. He’s taking me to that fancy place downtown.”

The Toyota sat there looking innocent enough — silver, clean, and nothing seemed obviously wrong. When I turned the key, it started right up.

“See?

Purrs like a kitten!” Cheryl said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Tommy took great care of it. Oil changes were done every three months…