The cleanup was grueling—two days of scrubbing, sweeping, and hauling trash. When Emery returned, she denied our agreement and dismissed me, claiming she didn’t owe me anything. Furious, I resolved to take matters into my own hands.
That evening, I went to the local dump and filled my car with trash. I returned to Emery’s house, using the key she had forgotten to retrieve. Inside, I scattered the garbage throughout her home, mixing rotten food, old newspapers, and dirty diapers into a grotesque mess.
Later, Emery pounded on my door, enraged and demanding answers. I denied involvement, reminding her that I supposedly never had the key. Threatening to call the police, she eventually left, defeated. As I closed the door, I felt a conflicted mix of satisfaction and guilt. In standing up for myself, I had crossed a line, but in that moment, it felt necessary. I doubted Emery would be asking for any more favors from me after this.