When my new neighbor Claire moved in six months ago, I figured she’d be like anyone else on the block—friendly, respectful, and content to keep to herself. She was in her 40s, lived with her teenage son Adam, and seemed perfectly pleasant at first. I even helped her settle in by lending her a few things: a ladder, a garden hose, and access to our grill while we were out. Just neighborly kindness.
Things changed dramatically one weekend when my husband David and I took the kids to visit my parents. It was a short trip, and we were looking forward to some quiet time away. But when we returned, our backyard was a mess—empty bottles everywhere, potted plants tipped over, toys scattered across the lawn, and grease all over our outdoor kitchen setup.
I stood there, stunned. It looked like a party had taken place. Determined to understand what happened, I knocked on Claire’s door. She answered, looking relaxed and unconcerned. “Oh, that was Adam’s birthday party. You know how teens are,” she said with a light laugh. I tried to keep my cool, explaining how upsetting it was to return to such disarray. She brushed it off, saying everything could be cleaned up with a hose and that I was being too uptight.
Later that evening, David tried to make light of the situation, but I felt deeply unsettled. I decided it was time to set some boundaries. I wrote a short note with three simple requests: clean and return borrowed items, respect our space, and please make sure her son tidies up after himself. The next morning, I left it at her door.
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