only to find red and yellow paint splattered across my house. My windows were covered, and a note on the porch read: “Just to make your days brighter!” It was from Linda. That was it. I snapped. That night, I drove to the hardware store, bought Japanese beetle traps, and buried the scent lures in Linda’s pristine flower beds. Within days, her garden was swarming. Her beloved flowers were shredded. She showed up at my door, furious, holding one of the beetle trap wrappers. But before the argument could escalate, Dean’s sobs interrupted us from inside. “Is Dad going to die?”

he cried. Linda froze. She looked past me, seeing for the first time the pain we were living through. Her anger melted, and for the first time, she truly saw me—not as a rival, but as a struggling mother and wife. “I didn’t know things were so hard for you,” she said quietly. “I didn’t do anything to your garden,” I lied, exhausted. We never became friends. But after that day, the harassment stopped. Her garden eventually healed, and so did we—just a little. Sometimes, all it takes is one moment of truth to shift a bitter feud into quiet understanding.