I lived peacefully on Maple Street, where neighborly handshake deals were the norm. When I built a fence for privacy, my neighbors Jim and Susan happily agreed on its spot—even if it wasn’t perfectly on the property line.

But everything changed when they moved and Kayla took over. A polished realtor from the big city, she looked down on everything and everyone. Six months in, she showed up with papers demanding I move the fence or pay her—because it encroached by nine inches. When I reminded her of my agreement with the previous owners, she scoffed, saying, “Where I’m from, we follow rules.”

To avoid legal trouble, I took the fence down. But a week later, Kayla returned—this time crying. Her dog Duke, a German Shepherd mix, was wreaking havoc inside her house without a secure backyard. She begged me to rebuild the fence and offered to pay. I declined politely. I didn’t want more drama.

Karma stepped in. Kayla built a flimsy bamboo fence, which Duke tore apart. Her furniture got destroyed, her social life tanked, and during a chaotic garage sale, Duke ran wild—and someone stole her purse. Her life became a circus, all because of that missing fence.

She begged again. I offered suggestions but wouldn’t rebuild. Months passed, and I finally put my house up for sale to escape the stress. The day I left, I told the new owners about Kayla. They were carefree, dog-free, and excited to move in.At my new place, I repurposed those old fence panels and found peace—and even love. Now, when I look at them, I smile. Karma had perfect aim.