Since I was a kid, I’ve never been able to say no. I always obeyed my mom, shared my lunch, gave up swings at the park, and I’ve never turned down a favor — even from strangers. Once in tenth grade, a homeless man asked me to hold a shovel while he ran to the soup kitchen. I stood there for two hours. Later, I found out it was used in a crime, and I had to deal with the police to clear my name.
Another time, I used the disabled bathroom stall by accident. A woman in a wheelchair screamed at me. I apologized endlessly, followed her around the mall begging for forgiveness until she called security. Eventually, I even showed up at her house — yes, I know — and now, I pay for a plane to skywrite apologies over her house. Weekly.
In addition to being too nice, I’m also a teen model. I’d graced magazine covers and walked major runways. But things started spiraling when my mom fired my agent to become my manager. She had no experience and alienated everyone — from designers to photographers. Eventually, I moved us into a new luxury apartment, but my mom demanded more space... so I moved out, again.
I rented a room in a beachfront house shared with three other models: Jasmine, Becca, and Lexi. Living with models was chaos. The fights were constant, the diets intense, and the drama never stopped. One time, I made them dinner hoping to bond, but it ended in a food fight, kitchen fire, and a landlord banning us from the kitchen. So, I hired a live-in chef.
Enter Noah — tall, charming, and incredibly capable. He cooked, cleaned, fixed things, and even protected us from paparazzi. Naturally, all three girls developed crushes. The tension escalated until I made a rule: Noah was off-limits. They agreed. Things settled… for a while.
At a party I hosted, my mom crashed it, demanding money and dresses. I gave in — again. Noah saw it all and later confronted me. He told me I deserved better. That I needed to stop letting people use me. I brushed him off — but his words stayed with me.
The next day, my roommates treated me like their assistant. But something in me snapped. I stood up for myself for the first time. I said "no." To their faces. Loudly. And I told them I was breaking the "Noah rule." Shocked, they backed off. I felt empowered.
Eventually, Noah and I started dating. He supported me in rebuilding my modeling career, away from my mom's influence. But my mom wouldn’t stop calling, begging for money. One night, Noah caught me sneaking out to give her cash. I broke down. He told me to redirect my kindness — help people who really needed it.
Inspired, I donated to a children's charity run by Noah’s cousin, Mila. I gave a lot — then more — then everything. But it was all a scam. Noah and Mila disappeared. My heart was shattered. They weren’t cousins. His name wasn’t even Noah. I collapsed into a depression.
My roommates found me in bed, broken. When I told them the truth, they rallied around me. We went to the police, and later, posted about the scam online. With the help of our followers, Noah and Mila were caught trying to flee the country. We had a victory party — but I still felt empty.
One night, while walking past a soup kitchen, I remembered the joy of thinking I was helping. That’s when it hit me — I could start my own charity. My curse could be my gift. I began building soup kitchens across the country. My model friends now volunteer too.
Five years later, I run a nonprofit that feeds thousands. I’ve learned to say no when it matters — and yes to the right people. And Jasmine? Still singing horribly. “Want me to sing after lunch, Clara?” she asks. I smile and reply, “Jasmine, I love you, but I really, really hate your music.”