She Crushed My Roses with Her SUV—So I Took Back My Lawn, and My Life
After my divorce, I didn’t just need a fresh start—I needed peace. Space. Something of my own. So I found it: a little house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, with a porch swing, a patch of grass, and a yard I poured my heart into. I planted roses from my late grandma’s garden, lined the path with solar lights, and named my mower Benny. That lawn became my sanctuary—every blade of grass, a small step toward healing.
Then Sabrina moved in.
She showed up like a thunderstorm in designer heels—loud, flashy, and entitled. Her Lexus roared through the neighborhood like it was a runway. The first time I saw tire tracks across my lawn, I thought it was a delivery van. But it kept happening.
One morning, I caught her red-handed—tires plowing through my flowerbed like it was nothing.
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