“Careful out there,” he called, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Looks like Mother Nature’s got it out for you.”
I spent hours chipping away at the ice, my frustration mounting. But Dad’s voice echoed in my mind: “The best revenge is living well. Keep your hands clean, kiddo.”
That night, a loud whooshing noise jolted me awake. I rushed to my window, expecting to see another attack on my car. But what I saw made me burst out laughing. A fire hydrant near Tom’s property had burst, spraying a powerful stream of water directly at his house. The freezing night air had transformed his home—and his precious SUV—into a bizarre ice palace.
By morning, the whole neighborhood was buzzing, with residents snapping photos of Tom’s frozen property. I could see him, out there with a garden shovel, looking utterly defeated as he chipped away at the ice. Despite everything, I remembered Dad’s lessons on kindness. Grabbing my ice scraper, I walked over.
“Need some help?” I asked, trying hard to stifle my amusement.
Tom looked up, surprised. “Why would you help me after everything?”
I shrugged. “Guess I’m just a better neighbor than you.”
We worked side by side for hours, finally freeing his SUV and clearing a path to his front door. The next morning, he knocked on my door, holding an envelope.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard. “And this.” Inside the envelope was $5,000 in crisp bills. “For your car. Fix it up—or buy a new one. Consider it a peace offering.”
A week later, my old sedan gleamed with a fresh coat of paint, new tires, and a rebuilt engine, proudly standing out among the luxury cars in the neighborhood. Every time I revved the engine and caught Tom sneaking a glance, I’d flash him a grin. Sometimes, he’d nod in reluctant admiration.
Dad always said that class isn’t about wealth—it’s about how you treat people. And sometimes, the best revenge isn’t about getting even. It’s about showing more grace than they deserve.