While my seven-year-old daughter, who suffered from severe pneumonia, fought for her life in the hospital, my neighbor decided to “decorate” my front door with rotten tomatoes. All because I hadn’t put up Halloween decorations early enough for her liking.
One Tuesday, my daughter, Lacey, came home from school with a slight cough. Initially, I thought it was just a cold. It didn’t look like anything serious. But by Friday night, she was burning up with a fever. That was when I realized something was extremely wrong with her.
Instead of waiting for an ambulance, I wrapped her in a blanket and drove to the ER.
Fortunately, the doctors moved fast.
Words like “severe pneumonia,” “aggressive infection,” and “extended stay” flew around while they ran tests on her. After what seemed like an eternity, the ER doctor finally sat down with me.
“The infection’s in both lungs,” he explained gently. “She’s going to need intensive treatment. We’re looking at a minimum of three weeks in the hospital.”
“Three weeks?” I looked at him with wide eyes. “But… but I have to work. The insurance… it doesn’t cover everything.”
“Let’s focus on getting her better first. You can speak with our financial department about payment plans.”
I’ve been doing this solo parent thing for five years now, ever since my husband, Mark, left for his twenty-something secretary. The divorce knocked us down hard, but my daughter Lacey is a fighter. We didn’t let Mark’s poor decisions affect us.
I worked as a waitress and picked up extra shifts after getting divorce. Living on a single income taught me a lesson about how to stretch every dollar and avoid unnecessary expenses.
Last year, we even managed to move into this supposedly “better” neighborhood.
Luckily, my co-worker, Maria, has been my rock through all this, covering for me when hospital visits run long.
Hospital bills were piling up faster than I could count, but what choice did I have? My baby needed me, and I had to work harder for her.
Maria was worried for me, “You look dead on your feet. When’s the last time you got some real sleep?”
I just shook my head. “Sleep’s a luxury I can’t afford right now. Between the hospital visits and these double shifts…”
“At least you’ve got good neighbors to help out, right?” Maria asked.
I let out a bitter laugh thinking about my neighbor Carla, who could give surveillance cameras a run for their money. Ever since we moved in, she’s appointed herself as the neighborhood’s personal CNN. Carla’s Nosy Network.
Just last month, she caused a whole drama with the Hendersons across the street just because of the painting color for their family front door.
Carla’s the type who doesn’t just check her mailbox. She watches everyone else check theirs too. She keeps a literal notebook of when people bring their trash cans in and out.
I swear I’ve seen her peeking through her blinds so often. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when she started blowing up our HOA group chat about Halloween preparations in mid-September.
Every day brought a new message about “maintaining neighborhood standards” and “preserving property values through seasonal charm.”
But Lacey is still in the hospital, festive decorations were the last thing on my mind.
That’s when my phone buzzed again. Another message from Carla, but this time sent directly to me.
I was in shock when I read her text.
Are you special or something? Why isn’t your house decorated for Halloween? It’s almost the end of October, and your house is the only one ruining the vibe. Do you want to spoil Halloween for the whole neighborhood? It’s embarrassing.
I took a deep breath before typing out a response
“Carla, I’m sorry I haven’t decorated. I’ve been in the hospital with my daughter for two weeks now. She’s really sick, and all my money’s gone to medicine and bills. I’m not sure I’ll be able to put anything up this year.”
Well, I didn’t get a response from Carla, so I thought she must’ve found something else to worry about.
After three weeks, Lacey was finally well enough to come home. But a putrid, sickening odor made my stomach turn.
Our front door was completely covered in smashed, rotten tomatoes. A note was taped right in the middle. It read:
Now at least it looks a bit like Halloween. No need to thank me.
I was so angry that my feet were almost shaking.
I got Lacey settled inside, made sure she was comfortable in bed, and then stormed over to Carla’s house. I could see her peeking through her blinds as I approached.
When she opened the door, that smug smile on her face made me want to scream.
“Oh, hey there. Enjoying the Halloween decorations?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me, Carla?” I snapped. “I told you what I was dealing with. You know my daughter’s been in the hospital, and you still did this?”
She rolled her eyes like I was being dramatic. “Look, I just thought you were making excuses. Everyone decorates, and it’s unfair for you to spoil it for the rest of us. I thought a little tomato juice might remind you to get into the spirit. You didn’t put up the decorations soon enough. Not my fault.”
Before I could respond, her husband Dan appeared. He was horrified after hearing his wife’s confession.
“Carla, what the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “You did what?”
Dan pulled Carla inside, and confronted her. The muffled argument was punctuated by phrases like “completely unacceptable” and “lost your mind.”
When Dan returned to the door, he was embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had no idea she’d do something like this. I’ll clean up your door and pay for any damages. Carla, you better apologize right now.”
Carla emerged and apologised to me. That was the most insincere apology I’d ever heard.
But this isn’t where the story ends. Karma intervened a few hours later and taught her an unforgettable lesson.
That night, the strongest storm of the season hit our neighborhood.
The wind howled like a banshee, and the rain was heavy. When I looked out my window the next morning, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.
Carla’s elaborate Halloween display which she’d been bragging about for weeks was absolutely decimated. Her precious inflatable decorations were scattered across three yards, her meticulously carved pumpkins had turned to mush in the rain, and her collection of “premium” skeletons lay broken and tangled in the bushes.
Mother Nature had delivered the perfect rev:enge.
Dan followed through on his promise, showing up early the next day with cleaning supplies and groceries.
“I can’t apologize enough,” he said while scrubbing the last bits of tomato off my door. “How’s your daughter doing?”
“She’s getting stronger every day,” I replied. “Thanks for asking. And thanks for, uh, everything else.”
Since then Carla hasn’t spoken a word to me and I’ve been loving the silence. When I pass by her house these days and see her bare lawn, I can’t help but smile a little.
