I’m Belle, 30, and I live in my grandparents’ charming cottage, nestled behind a wh!te picket fence and surrounded by the vibrant garden my grandmother had lovingly cared for. As a remote designer, my office looks out onto the beautiful flower beds she’d tended for years. It’s where I felt most at peace... that is, until my nightmare neighbor, Teddy, moved in next door.

I still remember the day he arrived, pulling up with a flashy moving truck that blocked my driveway. He stepped out, his gold chain shining in the sun and designer sunglasses pushed into his perfectly slicked-back hair. As he barked orders at the movers, I saw him talking on the phone about “another successful flip.”

“Hey there!” I called out, trying to be friendly as I waved. “Welcome to Maple Lane! I’m Belle, your neighbor from next door.”

He glanced over at me for a moment, sizing me up before offering a brief smile. “Teddy! Just closed on this place for a steal. Gonna make it look like something worth looking at.”

I was taken aback. The cottage was already lovely, full of character. “It’s a beautiful home already,” I said.

“If you’re into outdated everything,” he snorted. “Don’t worry, my renovations will boost your property value too. You’re welcome in advance.”

As I stood there, his small designer dog yapped continuously at me, clearly anxious, while he returned to his phone call without so much as a goodbye.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at my garden. “This is going to be interesting.”

Fast forward a month, and what I thought would be an “interesting” experience had turned into a living nightmare. The constant noise from his renovations was annoying enough, but it was Teddy’s constant arrogance that was driving me mad. Every time we interacted, it felt like he was competing with me in some way.

One afternoon, I was pruning the oak tree in my backyard when I felt his presence, and his shadow stretched across my yard.

“That tree’s gotta go,” he said, standing with his hands on his hips like he was posing for a magazine.

I nearly fell off the ladder. “Excuse me?”

“Your tree. It’s blocking the sunlight from h!tting my new deck,” he explained, gesturing to the monstrosity of wood that now dominated his backyard. “I need full exposure for my outdoor content.”

I climbed down from the ladder, still holding my pruning shears. “This oak has been here for 70 years. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Look, Belle,” he said my name like it was an old, outdated thing, “I’m trying to elevate this neighborhood. That deck cost me twelve grand. Your tree is literally shading my investment.”

“Trees are supposed to provide shade, Teddy. That’s their purpose,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show.

His jaw tightened. “I could have it declared a hazard.”

“It’s healthy, and it’s nowhere near your property line.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, turning to leave. Then, without a hint of politeness, he added, “And by the way, you might want to train your dog not to bark at mine. Some of us work from home, you know.”

I stared at his back as he walked away. “I don’t even have a dog!” I yelled after him. “That’s YOUR dog barking at squirrels all day!”

He waved his hand without turning back.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered to my oak tree. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

The following week, I began to notice something strange in my garden. The once sweet aroma of the flowers was now tainted with a foul smell. My boots sank into what should have been firm soil, and my vegetables began to wilt despite my careful attention. But it was the roses that really caught my attention—my grandmother’s roses. The ones she had grown with so much love. They started to d!e.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, kneeling beside them, their once-vibrant petals now brown and drooping. “What’s happening to you?”

The smell became unmistakable. It wasn’t compost. It wasn’t fertilizer. It was something far worse.

Panicking, I called a plumber to investigate.

“I think there’s a sewage leak in my garden,” I explained when he arrived, an older plumber with kind eyes named Miller.

He walked through the garden, inspecting the soil and looking increasingly concerned. “Oh yeah, something’s definitely leaking here,” he said, pulling out his tools. He spent an hour investigating, eventually discovering a strange green pipe buried in the mulch.

“Found your problem!” he said, pointing to the pipe. “But here's the weird thing... this pipe doesn’t connect to your house.”

I stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Where does it go?”

Miller ran a camera down the pipe and showed me the screen. The camera revealed the pipe leading directly to a foundation I recognized all too well—the one beneath Teddy’s deck.

“Your neighbor’s house,” Miller confirmed grimly. “Someone rerouted part of their waste water to your garden. And it’s recent work.”

My stomach dropped. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Simple. Money. Sewage hookups and maintenance cost a lot. This way, he gets to dump waste without paying the full price.”

I thought about Teddy’s endless renovations and his obsession with cutting costs. It made sense now.

“Can you document everything?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

Miller nodded. “Already on it. You planning on confronting him?”

“I’ll need a second opinion,” I said, my mind already racing.

That evening, I called my cousin Nate, a contractor who specialized in plumbing and electrical work.

"He did WHAT?!?" Nate’s voice was filled with disbelief when I explained what had happened.

“Redirected his sewage into my garden,” I repeated, pacing my kitchen.

“That’s not just disgusting, it’s illegal as hell, Bets. We’re calling the city tomorrow.”

“Actually,” I said, an idea forming as I looked out the window at Teddy’s yard, “I have something more immediate in mind.”

“What are you thinking, Bets?”

“Did you know Teddy’s hosting a BBQ this weekend? It's a social media sponsorship thing. Local press, influencers, the whole deal.”

There was a pause, and then Nate chuckled. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Can you reroute a pipe to connect to a sprinkler system?” I asked.

“Bets, you’re evil, you know that, right? But I’m in. I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

Saturday arrived, and Teddy’s backyard was filled with guests. I watched from my patio as he showed off his fancy grill to a lifestyle blogger.

“That’s it,” Nate whispered. “Here we go.”

Teddy pressed a button on his phone, and the sprinklers activated with a soft hiss. The guests smiled, oblivious to what was about to happen.

Then, the smell h!t.

“What is that?” someone gagged.

“It’s sewage!” another guest shouted.

Teddy froze, panic setting in as the sprinklers continued to spray the contaminated water. The chaos unfolded quickly. Guests ran, slipping in the mess, while Teddy frantically pressed his phone, trying to stop the sprinklers.

When the chaos finally subsided, Teddy stormed toward the fence, his face flushed with rage.

“You!” he yelled. “You ruined my event!”

I stood calmly with the evidence in hand. “Having plumbing issues, Teddy?”

He sputtered, denying everything, but the evidence was undeniable. I handed him a small ziplock bag with soaked roses. “Return to sender, Teddy. We reap what we sow.”

The lifestyle blogger began recording, and the story went viral.

The next week, Teddy knocked on my door. “I’m selling the house,” he muttered, clearly deflated.

I shrugged. “That was quick.”

“Can’t salvage my brand here,” he said, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry about your garden.”

“Those roses were my grandmother’s. They can’t be replaced,” I replied.

Later that day, I noticed something unexpected—a small pink rose growing in the neighbor’s yard, the same variety from my grandmother’s garden. It was the first sign of recovery, and as I transplanted it back into my garden, I whispered, “Welcome home, old friend.”

Sometimes, life gives you crap, literally. But it’s what grows from it that really matters.