Anastasia always thought her backyard would be her peaceful retreat, a place where she could read a book, sip her tea, and escape from the world. But instead, it became something else entirely—her neighbors’ private playground.
It all started with the trampoline.
“I’ve been living with my sister Emma for ten years,” Anastasia explained. “We still have this old trampoline in the backyard from when she was little. It’s been there forever, and I never thought it would cause trouble. But oh, was I wrong.”
One sunny afternoon, Anastasia was decorating the backyard for a small gathering with her friends. She lit candles, set out snacks, and strung little lights along the fence. Just as she was arranging the chairs, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.
The neighbor’s kids—Sandra and John’s four little ones—were jumping wildly on the old trampoline.
“They’d moved in about a year ago,” Anastasia recalled. “The kids are always outside, and for the past two weeks, since the weather turned nice, they’ve been all over the place. At first, I thought it was harmless. They asked if they could use the trampoline, and I said yes. But I made it clear it was just for a little while.”
The problem? That “little while” had turned into hours.
By 7 p.m., Anastasia’s friends began arriving. She plastered on a smile, even though the constant squeals from the trampoline were wearing on her nerves.
“Hey, kiddos!” she called out, waving her arms to get their attention. “Time to go home. My friends are here, and we’re about to start our gathering!”
One of the girls, Tia, pouted, crossing her arms. “But we’re having so much fun!” she whined.
“I know, sweetheart,” Anastasia said as gently as possible, “but you’ve been bouncing for three hours. It’s time to give the trampoline a rest and let the grown-ups have their time.”
And that’s when Sandra’s voice floated out the window.
“Anastasia, can the kids stay a little longer? They’re having such a good time!” she called.
Anastasia froze. Seriously? Am I their babysitter now? she thought.
She forced a polite smile and walked closer to Sandra’s window. “Sorry, Sandra, but I really need them to go now. My friends are here, and we need some adult time.”
Sandra’s face twisted in annoyance. “Come on, just a little longer? They’re not bothering anyone.”
Anastasia took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. “I understand, but I have guests, and we’re going to start having drinks. It’s not appropriate for the kids to be around.”
Sandra sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Fine, kids, come on in.”
The kids sulked off the trampoline, dragging their feet. Tia looked back with big, watery eyes, as if Anastasia had just taken away her favorite toy.
Laura, one of Anastasia’s friends, handed her a glass of wine and whispered, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a little neighborly drama,” Anastasia muttered. “But now, let’s enjoy the evening.”
Her friend Mike chuckled. “You’ve got to set boundaries with those kids. Otherwise, they’ll never leave.”
“They’re sweet kids,” Anastasia admitted, “but I’m not running a daycare.”
Emma, always quick with jokes, raised her eyebrows. “Maybe we should put up a big sign that says ‘No Kids Allowed During Parties.’”
Everyone burst out laughing, and the tension melted into the night. The backyard glowed with lights, laughter, and the smell of grilled food. For a moment, Anastasia thought maybe—just maybe—the problem was solved.
But she was wrong.
The very next week, things escalated.
After a long afternoon of shopping, Anastasia returned home with bags in both hands. She froze on the porch, staring in disbelief. The neighbor kids were back—this time with a cousin—jumping on her trampoline as if it were a public park.
“Hey!” she shouted, setting her grocery bags down. “What are you all doing here?”
The kids barely paused. One boy shouted back, “Our mom said we could play!”
Anastasia’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? You need to leave. You can’t just come over whenever you want!”
They ignored her. Completely.
“I’m serious! You need to go home—now!” she snapped.
Still no response. Her patience snapped. She stormed over to Sandra’s house and pounded on the door.
Sandra opened it with a sugary smile that vanished when she saw Anastasia’s furious face.
“Sandra, your kids are in my backyard again,” Anastasia said firmly. “I told them they need to leave, but they’re not listening.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “They’re just kids, Anastasia. What’s the harm? You never use that old trampoline anyway.”
“That’s not the point,” Anastasia shot back. “They can’t be in my yard without permission. I’ve told them before.”
Sandra’s smile turned into a snarl. “You’re being ridiculous! They’re just playing. Let them have some fun!”
Anastasia’s temper flared. “No. They need to leave. This is my property, and they need to respect that.”
Sandra’s face flushed with anger. “You’re such a Karen!” she spat before slamming the door.
Anastasia stood there, stunned, before grabbing her groceries and muttering under her breath. Sandra had crossed the line.
And then came Saturday.
At 9 a.m., Anastasia was woken by the sound of squeals and laughter. She groaned, dragged herself out of bed, and peeked through the window.
Her eyes widened in shock. Not only were the kids back, but Sandra’s husband John was in her yard—literally picking the lock on the trampoline’s safety enclosure.
Furious, Anastasia stormed outside in her robe. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
John barely looked up. “Just trying to let the kids have some fun,” he said casually, as if breaking and entering was no big deal.
“This is my property!” Anastasia yelled, her voice trembling with rage. “You have no right to be here. Get off my trampoline and leave now!”
Sandra appeared at her door, arms crossed. “What’s your problem, Anastasia? They’re just kids.”
“My problem,” Anastasia snapped, “is that your husband is picking a lock to get into my property. That’s not okay. You’re teaching your kids it’s fine to trespass and steal!”
John finally stood up, shrugging. “We’re not hurting anyone.”
“Not hurting anyone?” Anastasia barked. “You’re breaking into my yard!”
Sandra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you don’t stop harassing us, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re hitting our kids!”
Anastasia’s jaw dropped. “Go ahead, call the police,” she shot back. “But remember—I have footage of your husband picking the lock. I’ll show them everything.”
Sandra’s face drained of color. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me,” Anastasia said coldly. “Now get off my property before I make the call myself.”
Sandra muttered angrily, then shouted at her kids and husband. “Come on, let’s go!”
They stormed off, but Anastasia knew this battle wasn’t over.
The next morning, at exactly 9 a.m., the kids showed up again. But this time, Anastasia was ready.
Instead of yelling, she called a professional nanny—one of the best in the city. The nanny arrived quickly, cheerful and composed, and marched straight into the yard.
“Good morning, kids!” she greeted warmly. “I’m here to supervise you while you play!”
The kids blinked in confusion but shrugged and started bouncing on the trampoline. Anastasia, meanwhile, sat on her porch sipping tea, finally at peace.
Hours later, Sandra stormed over, her face red with fury. “Who are you, and what are you doing in Anastasia’s yard?” she demanded.
The nanny smiled politely. “Good morning. I’m the nanny hired to supervise your children while they play here.” She handed Sandra a folded piece of paper.
Sandra snatched it and unfolded it. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “A bill? Are you kidding me? You used to let them play here for free!”
The nanny’s tone remained calm. “That’s not the case anymore. I’m here to ensure the children’s safety. This is the bill for my services.”
Sandra gasped. “This is outrageous!”
Anastasia stepped forward, arms crossed. “Sandra, your kids have been trespassing for weeks. I’ve taken steps to protect them and myself. If you want them to play here, you need to pay for the nanny.”
Sandra’s voice rose. “This is unbelievable! You’re completely unreasonable!”
The nanny didn’t blink. “Ma’am, if you refuse to pay, I’ll have no choice but to take this matter to small claims court.”
Sandra’s face turned beet red. “You can’t do this! It’s just a trampoline!”
“It’s my trampoline,” Anastasia said firmly. “And my property. And I decide who uses it and under what conditions.”
Sandra grabbed her kids, fuming. “Come on, we’re leaving! This isn’t over!”
But eventually, it was over. After threatening to fight it, Sandra reluctantly paid the nanny’s bill. It wasn’t cheap—Anastasia had made sure of that.
Since that day, the trampoline has been quiet. No squeals, no trespassing, no lock-picking. Just peace.
And Anastasia finally got her backyard back.