I never believed in karma—until Meredith moved in next door.
I’m Cecelia, a single mom raising my daughter Lily in a quiet neighborhood we’ve called home for five years. Our garden, modest but full of love, became our sanctuary. Last spring, Lily and I installed solar lights—tiny flickers of joy she called “fairy magic.” They weren’t bright, just enough to make our evenings feel special.
Then came Meredith.
She knocked one evening, scowling at our lights. “They’re a nuisance,” she snapped. “Get rid of them or I’ll sue.” I was stunned. The lights didn’t shine into her yard, didn’t make noise, didn’t violate any rules. But Meredith was relentless. She sent a formal complaint to the HOA and even threatened legal action.
I refused to back down. Lily had poured her heart into that garden. I wasn’t going to let entitlement dim her light.
The next day, karma struck.
Meredith’s backyard—where she’d just installed an elaborate water feature—flooded. Turns out, she’d ignored city drainage guidelines. Her landscaping blocked runoff, and a surprise overnight storm turned her yard into a swamp. The HOA fined her. Her expensive setup was ruined. And she had to pay for repairs—not just to her yard, but to a neighbor’s fence she’d damaged with the overflow.
She came to my door, drenched and desperate. “Can I borrow your pump?” she asked.
I lent it. Not out of pity—but because Lily was watching. I wanted her to see that kindness doesn’t need permission, even when karma has already done its job.
Meredith never mentioned the lights again.
