Sometimes, revenge doesn’t come with shouting or lawsuits. Sometimes, it rolls in on four rusty wheels and just sits there—silently rewriting the ending.
For over 40 years, my grandparents, Lionel and Irene, built a quiet life on their hillside home. The kind of place where memories hang in the breeze like wind chimes—where every stone, every tree, holds a story. Their only neighbor? A steep, untouched lot next door. That is, until one day… bulldozers arrived.
“Sweetheart, they’re digging into our hill,” Grandma said, panic in her voice. “Right through our land.”
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