After spending two days cleaning her house, my neighbor refused to give me the €200 we had agreed upon, so I gave her a lesson she would never forget.
It’s been said that your neighbors can either be your greatest ally or your worst adversary. It never occurred to me that mine would be both at once. What began as a straightforward favor escalated into a violent altercation and an unanticipated act of retaliation.
My name is Lila, I’m 48 years old, have two kids to take care of, and lead a life that is very different from what I had imagined. Six years ago, one evening, my husband Caleb left us, saying he needed “time to find himself.” In fact, he never returned. I had to raise tiny Ivy, who was still innocent, and Jude, who was already a teenager, by myself. I barely make ends meet from my remote work at a contact center. Every cent matters.
In this environment, my new neighbor, Satie, who is in her forties, knocked on my door. She pleaded with me, her face showing signs of exhaustion: “Lila, I had to go immediately for work after throwing a large party last night. My home is in ruins. Could you assist me with cleaning? I will give you €200.
I paused. Even though I didn’t have much time, I needed that amount. I concurred.
I had the impression that I had entered a battleground when I walked through her front door. Dishes heaped high, leftover food, empty bottles, sticky carpets—complete mayhem. I tossed out bags, swept, scrubbed, and washed nonstop for two whole days. My hands were burning, and my back hurt. However, I waited, recalling Satie’s assurance.
I was worn out but proud when the work was finished. Her home gleamed. To get what I was due, I knocked on her door. Satie gave me a chilly look as though she didn’t comprehend:
— “Receipt? What are you discussing?
My heart froze. The €200. We had agreed to that.
She gave a shrug. “I didn’t say that. You must be wrong. Then, ashamed, I stood there while she drove away.
Two days of labor, erased as though nothing had occurred. I felt a flash of anger. I resisted being taken advantage of. So I thought of something.
I muttered to myself, “All right, Lila, think wisely.” I started making plans after taking a look at Satie’s house. I didn’t care that it was daring. I could play dirty too, if she wanted to.
After filling my car with stench-filled garbage bags from the nearby dump, I headed back to her house. In her haste, Satie had left the key behind and neglected to retrieve it. I unlocked her door and went through her immaculate house, emptying every bag of rotting food, soiled diapers, and other waste. With my heart racing yet oddly relieved, I placed the key under her doormat, shut the door behind me, and left for home.
Satie, enraged, pounded on my door aggressively that same evening:
— “How did you damage my home?!”
Unfazed, I gazed at her:
– “I don’t know. You did tell me I never had a key, after all. and that we didn’t have an agreement.
Unable to answer, she remained silent and then pivoted on her heel.
For once, I had earned respect, even though I knew I had gone too far. One thing became clear to Satie: you don’t step on Lila and get away with it.
