My stomach dropped. “Like what?”
He sighed. “She’s been telling people she thinks you’re… selling illegal substances.”
I laughed bitterly. “What?!”
“She says all the people who come to visit your wife? They’re your ‘clients.’”
I couldn’t believe it. Emily was bedridden, and the caregivers were just that—caregivers.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I muttered, feeling my anger rise.
Lawson gave me a sympathetic look. “For what it’s worth, most of us know she’s just making things up. But you might want to do something about it.”
And that was all I needed to hear.
I wasn’t a fan of confrontation, but I wasn’t about to let my family be smeared by a neighbor who was clearly out of control. I took action.
First, I installed surveillance cameras around the house—front yard, backyard, and driveway. I began capturing every outburst, every trespass, every hostile interaction with Karen. I kept meticulous records—dates, times, and details of the incidents—and compiled them into a folder labeled “Homeowners Association (HOA) Complaint.”
Then, I made my move.
I filed a formal grievance with the HOA, attaching all the evidence. As I sealed the envelope, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Karen’s reaction when she got the notice. For good measure, I had a high-privacy fence installed to block her view into our yard.
That’s when Karen really lost it.
The first morning the fence was up, she came storming out, red-faced. “This is ridiculous! You’re trying to block me out!” she shouted.
I smirked. “That’s the idea.”
She stormed back inside, but she wasn’t done. She filed her own complaint with the HOA about the fence, but it went nowhere. I had all the proper permits, and the HOA informed her that her complaint was still under review.
That’s when Karen decided to try throwing her trash over the fence, but it was too high, and most of it fell right back into her own yard. Perfect—more evidence.
The next day, I filed another complaint. Karen’s antics were starting to slow down, but she wasn’t giving up. Then, two months later, a young woman knocked on my door.
“Hi,” she said, nervously. “I’m Sarah, your neighbor’s daughter.”
I blinked. “She has a daughter?”
Sarah nodded, looking apologetic. “Yeah, sorry about all this. I’ve been away, attending work conferences. My mom’s been… difficult, and I know she’s been causing problems. I just wanted to come by and explain.”
For the first time, I felt a little sympathy for Karen.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, rubbing my neck. “But she did this to herself.”
A month later, Karen was gone. Her house looked abandoned, with the lawn unkempt and the shutters hanging loose. The day the moving truck pulled away, I told the boys they could finally play as loudly as they wanted.
That evening, something happened that hadn’t in over a year—Emily, frail but determined, stepped outside for the first time in months. She sat on the front porch, smiling as the boys showed off their best sports tricks.
She looked at me, eyes twinkling. “So, you finally fought back.”
I grinned. “Had to.”
She squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
I kissed her forehead, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
Karen was gone, and for the first time in months, our home felt like ours again.