I’ve been documenting every instance of this. Photos, videos, timestamps. Do you have any idea what my insurance company would say if they knew unsupervised? Children were regularly using my pool without permission. You’ve been taking pictures of my children. Karen’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
I’ve been documenting trespassing on my property. Emma had climbed out of the pool and was wrapping herself in a towel, shivering. Tyler followed, both children looking confused and a little scared. Mom. Emma’s voice was small. It’s okay, baby. The mean man wants us to leave his precious pool.
Karen’s eyes never left David’s face as she spoke, her words dripping with venom. David felt something cold settle in his chest. Mean man.
That’s what his neighbor thought of him. the guy who worked 60-hour weeks to afford this house, who’ spent his weekends last summer installing that pool himself, who’d never once complained about their dog barking at all hours or their music playing too loud during their frequent backyard parties.
“Karen,” he said quietly, “I want you to listen very carefully. If I find your children in my pool again, ever, I’m calling the police. I’m also calling my lawyer.” She laughed, but it sounded forced over a pool. You’d really call the police on children. I’d call the police on anyone who repeatedly trespassed on my property after being asked to stop. We’ll see about that.
Karen grabbed her children’s hands, pulling them toward the gap in the fence, a gap that David suddenly realized they must have created. Come on, kids. Some people have forgotten what it means to be neighborly. as they disappeared through the fence. David heard Tyler ask, “Mom, why was that man so angry?” “Because he’s a selfish, bitter person who doesn’t understand that property comes with community responsibility,” Karen replied, her voice carrying clearly across the yard.
David stood alone on his deck, staring at the pool that now felt contaminated by the morning’s confrontation. “Community responsibility.” The phrase echoed in his head as he noticed the muddy footprints on his pool deck. The candy wrapper floating in the shallow end, the small crack in one of his decorative planters where someone had obviously stepped on it.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos he’d been taking. Dozens of them. Kids in his pool. Karen sunbathing on his pool furniture. Tyler using his outdoor shower. He’d been patient. He’d been reasonable. He’d tried the neighborly approach. But as he looked at the gap in his fence, his fence on his property that had been widened to accommodate easier access, David realized something had fundamentally shifted inside him.
He dialed a number he’d been avoiding for weeks. Peterson construction. Yeah, this is David Chen on Maple Street. I need a quote for pull removal. Yes, complete removal tomorrow. That would be perfect. As he hung up, David caught sight of Karen watching him from her kitchen window. When their eyes met, she didn’t look away.
Instead, she raised her coffee mug in a mocking toast. David smiled back and raised his phone, snapping one final photo. By sunset tomorrow, Karen Morrison was going to learn that some property owners bite back, and her reaction would be so much worse than he could have possibly imagined. The rumble of heavy machinery at 7:00 a.m.
