Finally, after three exhausting weeks, Lacey was well enough to come home. As we pulled into our driveway, an awful, sour smell greeted us. Our front door was plastered in smashed, rotten tomatoes, with a note taped in the middle: “Now at least it looks a bit like Halloween. No need to thank me.”
Livid, I settled Lacey inside and marched over to Carla’s house. When she opened the door, she had a smug look on her face.
“Enjoying the Halloween decorations?” she sneered.
“Are you kidding me, Carla? I told you my daughter was in the hospital. You knew what I was going through, and you still did this?” I snapped.
Before she could respond, her husband Dan, clearly horrified, appeared behind her. He dragged Carla inside, where I heard him demand an explanation, his voice rising in frustration. Moments later, Dan returned, offering a sincere apology and promising to clean my door and cover any damages.
A few hours later, karma struck in the form of the worst storm of the season. The next morning, Carla’s meticulously arranged Halloween display was obliterated. Her precious inflatables were strewn across three lawns, her pumpkins had turned to mush, and her expensive decorations were tangled and broken.
Dan kept his word and showed up early to clean my door. He even brought groceries and asked how Lacey was doing. I thanked him, and as he scrubbed the last bits of tomato from my door, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for his kindness.
Carla hasn’t spoken to me since, and honestly, I’m loving the peace and quiet. It’s funny how karma works—sometimes, it doesn’t just come around; it storms through like a hurricane.
