They say neighbors can become friends or foes, but I never imagined mine would turn into both. What began as a favor turned into a bitter feud that left us both reeling.
I’m Prudence, 48, a mother of two, trying to make ends meet after my husband, Silas, left six years ago. With our son Damien, now 14, and daughter Connie, just a baby when he walked out, I was left to pick up the pieces alone.
One day, Emery, the new neighbor in her early 30s, knocked on my door, looking desperate. “Can I ask you for a huge favor?” she said. She explained that her house was a disaster after a party, and she needed help cleaning it before leaving town.
“How much?” I asked, considering my financial situation.
“Two hundred and fifty dollars,” she replied, and I agreed.
Emery’s house was a wreck. It took me two solid days of scrubbing and hauling trash, but I reminded myself of the $250. When she returned, I went to collect.
A messy house with empty bottles, dirty plates, and trash strewn everywhere | Source: Midjourney
“Emery, it’s done. So, about the payment…” I said.
“What payment?” she replied, confused.
I felt my heart sink. “The $250 you promised!”
“No agreement, Prudence,” she snapped, rushing to her car.
I stood there, fuming. How could she just walk away? After two days of hard work, I wasn’t about to let her get away with it.
Back at home, I paced the living room, plotting my next move. An idea formed: I could make her understand the consequences of her actions.
Twenty minutes later, I was at the local garbage dump, loading my trunk with trash bags. When I pulled up at Emery’s house, I saw she’d forgotten to take her key back.
I unlocked her door and stepped inside. The house was still spotless, but that was about to change. I tore open the garbage bags, dumping everything onto her floors and counters—rotten food, dirty diapers, you name it.
“This is what you get, Emery,” I muttered. After locking the door and slipping the key under her mat, I walked back to my car, feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt.
Later that evening, as I put Connie to bed, I heard furious banging at my door. I opened it to find Emery, red-faced and livid.
“What the hell did you do to my house?!” she screamed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied coolly. “We never had an agreement, remember? I never had the keys.”
“You’re lying! I’m calling the police!” she shouted.
“Go ahead,” I said. “But how will you explain it? According to you, I never had a key.”
She stood there, speechless, before storming off.
I closed the door, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. I knew I’d crossed a line, but sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself—even if it means getting your hands dirty.
