After my divorce, I was looking not just for a fresh start, but for real change. That’s how I ended up in a quiet neighborhood, a cozy little house with a white porch swing and a small garden that was now all mine.
I was 30, had just gone through a rough patch, and I longed for peace.
I soon met Sabrina. She lived in a house on the corner. Her husband, Seth, was always in the shadows—I never saw him driving. Only her.
One day I noticed tire marks in the grass. At first I thought it was a coincidence—maybe the delivery driver had taken a wrong turn. But then it happened again.
One morning I saw her car driving across my lawn again. I went out and flagged her down.
“Oh, don’t worry, the grass will grow back,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes I’m in a hurry.”
She drove off, and I was left with a growing sense of irritation. It wasn’t just the fact, but her approach – as if my land meant nothing.
The next day I discovered broken plants and overturned pots. That’s when I understood: it wasn’t about the flowers, but about the lack of respect for private space.
I decided to take action.
I bought poultry netting and carefully placed it under the surface of the lawn – it was ecological, invisible, but effective.
Two days later I was sitting on the porch and heard a loud crash. Her car had driven onto the lawn again, but this time one of the wheels had been damaged.
Sabrina got out irritated, but that was only the beginning.
The next morning I received a letter from her lawyer – it said that I had allegedly damaged common property.
I decided to clarify the matter.
It turned out that the boundaries of our plots did not even touch.
I gathered documents, photos, expert opinions, attached copies of invoices and sent everything to Sabrina’s law firm. In the letter, I wrote:
“Respect should be mutual.”
A few days later, the case was closed. No explanation, no apology—but no more trespassing.
To solve the problem once and for all, I installed a motion-sensing irrigation system. It was designed to keep animals away, but it also worked great as a reminder of boundaries.
When her car drove across my lawn again, the system kicked in—and sprayed water straight through the open window. Sabrina was left soaking wet.
Since then, it has never happened again.
A week later, someone knocked on my door.
A man in his fifties was standing on the doorstep, holding a small lavender plant.
“I’m Seth,” he said quietly. “Sabrina’s husband.”
He seemed like the kind of man who often had to apologize.
A few weeks passed. The lawn was green again, and the flower beds were full of flowers.
I removed the netting. The irrigation system was — not out of revenge, but as a reminder.
Sometimes difficult events really hurt. But it is precisely such moments that help us regain inner balance, teach us to respect boundaries and appreciate peace in relationships with others.