I marched outside, the offending baseball clutched in my hand like a grenade. Baron Bigshot was in his driveway, polishing his luxury car with the care most people reserve for newborns.
“Hey!” I shouted, storming up to him. “Your son’s baseball just came through my window. It nearly hit my daughter!”
He barely glanced up. “Oh? And you’re sure it was my son’s ball?”
I thrust the blueberry pie-lathered ball in his face. “Unless baseballs are falling from the sky now, yes, I’m pretty sure.”
He sighed like I was some peasant interrupting his important car-polishing duties. “Look, Ms…”
“Angela. We’ve been neighbors for three years.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Right, right. Angela. Do you have any proof it was my Billy’s ball?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Proof? There’s pie filling on it!”
“Ah,” he nodded sagely, “so you admit you tampered with the evidence.”
I felt my eye start to twitch. “Listen here, Baron Big—”
“I beg your pardon?”
I took a deep breath. “Mr. Worthington. Your son broke my window. He could have seriously hurt my daughter. The least you could do is pay for the repairs.”
He chuckled, actually chuckled! “My dear, do you know how much that would cost?”
“Probably less than one of your car’s tires,” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a birthday party to prepare for. Important guests are coming, you understand. Out of my property!”
He said that. Yep! No apology. No NOTHIN’.
As he turned away, something in me snapped. “Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that you care more about your fancy party than the safety of your neighbors!”
He spun around, his face red. “Now see here—”
But I was on a roll. “No, you see here! Your son has been terrorizing this neighborhood for months. We’ve all been too polite to say anything, but enough is enough. You need to take responsibility!”
“I suggest you leave now before I call the police for trespassing.”
Defeated and furious, I trudged back home, the sound of his expensive sprinkler system mocking me with every step.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of cleaning up glass and comforting a still-shaken Penny.
As evening fell, the sounds of Baron Bigshot’s party drifted over. Laughter, clinking glasses, and what I was pretty sure was a live band.
I was just about to close the curtains (what was left of them anyway) when I saw something odd. A group of young men in masks, all wearing football jerseys, was marching up Baron Bigshot’s perfectly manicured lawn.
“What in the world?” I murmured, pressing my nose against the wooden window sill divider.
Suddenly, they all raised their arms, each holding a football. And then, in perfect synchronization, they let loose.
Footballs rained down on Baron Bigshot’s party like a sports equipment hailstorm. I watched, mouth agape, as chaos erupted.
Guests screamed and ducked, champagne flutes shattered, and Baron Bigshot himself stood in the middle of it all, looking like a man who’d just seen his worst nightmare come to life.
As quickly as it started, it was over. The football players high-fived each other and jogged away, leaving destruction in their wake.
I was still trying to process what I’d seen when there was a knock at my door. It was Mrs. Stewart, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“Did you see that?” she asked, barely containing her glee.
I nodded, still stunned. “What… how…”
She winked. “Let’s just say my nephew’s football team owed me a favor. Thought our dear neighbor could use a taste of his own medicine.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re a genius!”
She patted my arm. “Sometimes, dear, karma needs a little push.”
The next morning, I was enjoying my coffee when there was a furious pounding at my door. I opened it to find Baron Bigshot, looking decidedly less baronial in his rumpled pajamas.
“YOU!” he sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You did this!”
I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the moment. “Did what?”
“Don’t play dumb! The football attack! It ruined everything!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof it was me?”
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, clearly recognizing his own words being thrown back at him.
I leaned against the doorframe, feeling surprisingly calm. “You know, Mr. Worthington, sometimes life has a funny way of teaching us lessons. Maybe this is yours.”
His face turned an impressive shade of purple. “This isn’t over!”
As he stormed off, I called after him, “Oh, and Mr. Worthington? You might want to consider investing in some wooden planks for your windows. I hear they’re all the rage these days.”
I closed the door, grinning to myself. Penny looked up from her coloring book, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“Mommy, why was that man yelling?”
I scooped her up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, sweetie. He just learned a very important lesson about being a good neighbor.”
Well, folks, there you have it. Karma works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s swift, sometimes it takes its sweet time, and sometimes it needs a little nudge from a well-meaning neighbor with connections to a high school football team!
So, tell me, have you ever had a neighbor from hell? A Baron Bigshot of your own? Drop your stories in the comments. After all, misery loves company, and nothing brings people together quite like tales of nightmare neighbors!
I Asked a Friend to Repair My Husband’s Phone — What He Found Inside Made My Blood Boil
When Denise’s husband tells her his phone is broken, she takes it to an old college buddy for repairs. But when she picks up the phone later, her friend shows her a note inside that proves her husband is hiding a dark secret.
I never would’ve imagined that a lost pair of earbuds would lead me to the most devastating discovery of my life.
There I was, dressed and ready for my morning jog when I realized I must’ve lost my earbuds in the Uber that brought my husband, Andrew, and me home the previous evening. I rushed into the kitchen, where Andy was making coffee.
“Babe, give me your phone, please?” I held out my hand. “I need to look at your call history.”
A man with a guilty expression | Source: Pexels
Andrew went pale as a sheet. “No, you can’t,” he replied quickly.
Now, I’m not going to claim Andy and I have a perfect marriage. We argue and sometimes get on each other’s nerves, but that’s normal, right? On this occasion, something about his response raised a red flag.
“Why not?” I asked.
“It’s… dead.” He looked away as he replied, stirring his coffee like it was the most important thing in the world. “I, uh, dropped it this morning.”
A woman staring forward | Source: Pexels
It was so obvious he was lying that I was speechless for a minute. I didn’t understand what was going on. Then I started thinking about all the times he’d come home late recently.
I also noticed strange appointments in his calendar when I double-checked the date for his parents’ upcoming anniversary celebration. It seemed so obvious in hindsight: Andrew was hiding something from me.
“Where is it now?” I asked. “I can drop it off to get repaired on my way to work, if you like?”
A tense couple | Source: Pexels
Andrew hesitantly went into the bedroom to fetch his phone. It seemed to take ages, but finally, he handed me his phone.
It was indeed dead, the screen as black as night. I tried turning it on while I was on the subway, but it seemed Andrew had been telling the truth.
I should’ve been relieved, but my suspicions from earlier still nagged at me as I entered the repair shop. My old college buddy, Mike, owned the place. He greeted me warmly as I approached the counter.
A woman speaks to a shop assistant | Source: Pexels
“Hey, Mike. Can you take a look at this?” I set the phone down in front of him.
Mike took the phone and turned it over in his hands. “Sure thing, Denise, I’ll let you know what I find.”
The day dragged on at work, my mind a whirl of worries. By the time I got off, there was a message from Mike waiting for me.
“Hey, can you come by the shop? There’s something you need to see.”
Woman walking on the street while speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
My stomach churned as I walked into Mike’s shop. He looked up from the counter, a serious expression on his face.
“Let’s go to the back,” Mike said.
My heart pounded as I followed him to a small room. Mike closed the door behind us, then handed me Andrew’s phone, now powered on and functional. But there was more.
“I found this inside the phone,” he said, passing me a small folded note.
With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper.
A woman holding a notepad | Source: Pexels
Scrawled in Andrew’s handwriting, it read: “Please don’t fix this phone, say it’s beyond repair. Email me, I will send you money for it. Thanks!”
I felt like the ground had fallen away beneath me. “What the heck?” I muttered, “Why would he…”
I looked at Mike, but he raised his hands. “I didn’t email him, and I didn’t look at any personal stuff on the device either.” He let out a sigh and looked sadly at me. “But he obviously has something to hide.”
An earnest man | Source: Pexels
I know he meant to be kind, but his words felt like a slap in the face.
I thanked Mike, paid him, and left in a hurry. Once I was seated on the train home, I pulled out Andrew’s phone. He’d gone to such lengths to keep me from seeing his call history, but why?
My hands clenched into fists as the most obvious answer sprang to mind: Andrew was cheating on me.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
So, I was all fired up as I started scrolling through phone numbers. My imagination was already filling up with various ways to get revenge on him, so what I found caught me completely off guard.
Most calls were to a number labeled “Dr. Whitman,” and several others marked “Hospital.”
“What the heck…” I muttered, clicking on the messages next. They were filled with appointment confirmations, test results, and reminders for follow-ups.
My mind raced, trying to piece together what this could mean.
A woman scrolling on a smart phone | Source: Pexels
Was Andrew sick? I tapped into his photo gallery, and my worst fears were confirmed. Scans, x-rays, and medical documents filled the screen. Each image painted a grim picture of a long, hidden battle with illness.
Andrew wasn’t cheating; he was sick, and he’d kept it from me all this time. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away.
The rest of the subway ride felt like an eternity. My mind replayed every moment from the past few months, every late night, every strange appointment.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
Feelings of anger, sorrow, and guilt cycled through me. Why hadn’t he told me? How could he go through this alone?
I took a deep breath as I approached our home, feeling the weight of Andrew’s secret pressing down on my chest. Fresh tears stung at my eyes, but I clenched my jaw and kept moving.
When I finally walked through the front door, Andrew was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. He looked up, and his face fell when he saw the phone in my hand.
Man sitting on a sofa | Source: Pexels
“You got it fixed?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
I nodded. “Andrew, we need to talk.”
He looked away, the dread evident in his posture. I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Andrew sighed, tears forming in his own eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to protect you, to keep our life normal for as long as possible.”
Couple seated on a sofa | Source: Pexels
“Protect me?” I echoed, my voice rising. “How could you think this would protect me? Finding out like this feels like a betrayal.”
“I’m sorry, Denise,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”
“We’re supposed to share our lives, Andrew,” I snapped. “The good and the bad. How could you think this isn’t my problem too?”
He hung his head, silent tears streaming down his face.
Sad and serious man | Source: Pexels
“I know I should have told you,” he whispered. “But I was so scared. I didn’t want you to see me as… broken.”
My heart ached as I watched Andrew hang his head and turn away. I closed the gap between us, placing my arms around him as I tried to make sense of it all.
“Andrew, I love you,” I said. “Nothing will ever change that. But I need you to trust me. We’re in this together, remember?”
Close up of a woman with tear-filled eyes | Source: Pexels
He nodded, squeezing my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry, Denise. I promise, no more secrets.”
I held him tight as I felt his body shake with sobs. “We’ll get through this,” I whispered. “Together. But I need you to tell me what the doctors found.”
Andrew let out a shaky breath. He wiped his tears as he turned to face me and said two words that changed my life forever.
Couple seated on a sofa having a conversation | Source: Pexels
“Lung cancer.” Andrew’s lower lip quivered as he attempted a brave smile. “It’s under control for now, but it’s not good, Denise.”
For a long while, we just sat there, holding each other. The weight of his secret was still heavy, but sharing it made it a little easier to bear. We talked late into the night about his diagnosis, his fears, and what we needed to do next.
It was going to be a long road, but at least we’d be walking it together.
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
The next morning, we made an appointment with Dr. Whitman. As we sat in the waiting room, Andrew reached for my hand.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said softly.
I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and strength there. “We’re a team, remember? I’m not going anywhere.”
Couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
He smiled, a real smile this time, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Despite all the drama and heartache, I knew then that no matter what happened next, we’d be okay.
Leave a Reply