Neighbors can either be friends or enemies, and in my case, mine became both at the same time. A small favor turned into a nightmare, with a twist I didn’t see coming.
My husband Silas left six years ago, and I found myself still in that same kitchen, wiping the same counter over and over, wondering how I ended up here.
I’m Prudence, 48 years old, a mom of two, and I work from home for a call center. Life didn’t exactly turn out the way I imagined.
Silas and I used to have dreams—big ones—about the life we were going to build together. But somewhere along the line, those dreams crumbled. One night, he said he needed “space to figure things out,” and he walked out the door, leaving me with our 8-year-old son Damien and our baby daughter, Connie. He never came back.
Now, six years later, I’m just trying to survive. Connie’s small voice pulled me out of my thoughts as she sat at the kitchen table. “Mom, can I have some cereal?” Her big brown eyes, full of innocence, made me smile.
“Sure, honey,” I said, reaching for the cereal box.
Damien, who’s now a teenager, shuffled into the kitchen with his headphones on, barely looking up from his phone. “I’m going to hang out with Jake. I’ll be back later,” he mumbled.
“Don’t stay out too late, and don’t forget your homework!” I called out, but he was already out the door.
It was just another day—balancing work, raising two kids alone, and keeping everything together. My job at the call center paid the bills, but it wasn’t what I wanted for my life. Still, it was all I had for now.
Then, there was a knock at the door. It was Emery, my new neighbor, standing there with messy hair and tired eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“Prudence, I need a huge favor,” she said, her voice cracking with desperation.
I nodded, inviting her inside. “What’s going on?”
She flopped onto the couch, sighing deeply. “I had a crazy party last night, and I just got called out of town for work. The house is a disaster, and I don’t have time to clean it. Could you help me? I’ll pay you.”
I hesitated. I had to start my work shift soon, but the idea of some extra cash was tempting. We could really use it. “How much are we talking?”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars,” she replied quickly, her eyes almost pleading with me. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”
After thinking it over for a moment, I agreed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver!” she hugged me and hurried out the door.
When I got to her house, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was like a hurricane had hit it—empty bottles, half-eaten food, and trash were everywhere.
For the next two days, I scrubbed and cleaned, working through every inch of the mess. My body ached from the work, but I kept thinking about the $250. That money was going to help a lot.
When Emery returned, I went over to collect. “Emery, I finished cleaning. Your house is spotless,” I said, trying to keep the exhaustion from showing in my voice. “About that payment…”
She blinked at me. “Payment? What payment?”
I froze. “The $250 you promised me for cleaning. Remember?”
She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Prudence, I never agreed to pay you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My anger flared. “You said you’d pay me! We had a deal!”
“No, we didn’t,” she snapped. “I don’t have time for this.” She pushed past me and got in her car without another word.
I stood there in disbelief, my blood boiling. Two days of hard work, and she acted like we never made a deal.
Back home, I felt the anger boiling inside me. “Think smart, Prudence,” I muttered to myself. Then, an idea came to me. It was risky, but at that point, I didn’t care.
Twenty minutes later, I was at the local dump, loading up the trunk of my car with garbage bags. The smell was awful, but I kept going.
When I got back to her house, I realized she had left her house key behind. A part of me hesitated, but another part—the part that was furious—kept pushing me forward.
I unlocked her door, stepped inside, and looked around. Her house was still spotless, but I wasn’t going to leave it that way. I started opening the garbage bags, dumping their contents—rotten food, dirty diapers, and newspapers—all over the house.
“This is what you get, Emery,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.
I left her key under the mat, locked the door behind me, and drove home with a strange mix of guilt and satisfaction.
That night, just as I was putting Connie to bed, there was loud banging on my door. I already knew who it was.
“Prudence! What the hell did you do to my house?!” Emery screamed, her face bright red with rage.
I crossed my arms, calm as ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We never had an agreement, so how could I have gotten your key?”
She stared at me, speechless. Then she yelled, “You’re lying! I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead,” I said. “But how will you explain how I got in?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Furious, she stormed off.
As I closed the door behind her, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I had crossed a line, but sometimes, you have to fight back.
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