I’m Julia, and for over ten years, my husband Roger, our son Dean, and I lived a peaceful life in a quiet suburban neighborhood—until Linda moved in next door with her golden retriever, Max. From day one, Linda was difficult. She blasted music, let Max roam freely, and acted like the neighborhood rules didn’t apply to her. Still, I tried to keep the peace—until Max wandered into my yard one afternoon and stepped on a rose thorn. I gently removed it and walked him back, expecting a thank you. Instead, Linda accused me of hurting him. The next day, I found a note on my door: “

You owe me $2000 for Max’s treatment.” I was stunned. I offered $100 out of goodwill, but Linda wasn’t having it. “You’ll regret this,” she warned—and that’s when the real war began. She knocked over our trash cans, flipped me off while driving past, and worst of all, harassed my 10-year-old son, Dean. She even threatened to call the cops on him for riding a mini bike—something all the neighborhood kids did. Meanwhile, my husband Roger was battling serious health issues, in and out of the hospital. I was hanging by a thread. Then came the tipping point. After spending two grueling days at the hospital with Roger, I returned home, exhausted,