I never thought I’d come home to find my treasured flower garden destroyed, but that’s exactly what happened when my father-in-law, Richard, took it upon himself to bulldoze my backyard and dig a hole for a swimming pool—without our knowledge or permission. My name is Linda, and I’m a forty-year-old high school English teacher. I live with my husband, Tom, and Richard, who moved in two years ago after my mother-in-law passed away.

Tom and I have been married for fifteen years, and up until Richard came to live with us, things were peaceful. Richard, unfortunately, is one of those people who always thinks he knows best and isn’t shy about voicing his opinions. Living with him was already tough, but I made the effort for Tom’s sake. Since we don’t have children, my garden had become my sanctuary. Every weekend, every spare moment, I would be out there planting, weeding, pruning, and caring for my flowers. It wasn’t just a hobby—it was therapy, a peaceful space that I built with my own two hands. But Richard clearly didn’t see the value in that.

One evening, as we finished dinner, Richard announced, “I’ve been thinking—we should build a pool in the backyard.” I stared at him, stunned. “A pool? Richard, where would we even put it? The yard isn’t that big,” I said. He waved off my concerns, saying he was bored and needed something to enjoy during the summer. Tom tried to intervene, reminding his father how much time and effort I had put into the garden and how impractical a pool would be. But Richard wouldn’t let it go. For weeks, he kept pushing the idea, and every time, I told him no. “I love my garden. I’m not giving it up for a pool,” I told him firmly.

I believed that was the end of the conversation. It wasn’t. One weekend, Tom and I went to visit my parents. It was supposed to be a relaxing break, but when we pulled into our driveway Sunday evening, I immediately knew something was wrong. The front yard was torn up, tire tracks everywhere. As we walked to the back, my heart sank. My garden was gone—just dirt, debris, and a massive hole. Richard stood in the middle of it all, beaming. “I’ve started the pool! No need to thank me,” he said with a smug grin. I couldn’t speak. Tom lost it. “Dad! What were you thinking? We told you not to touch the garden!” Richard shrugged it off, saying he’d gotten a good deal on the excavation and we’d appreciate it later. I went inside in tears, and Tom promised to fix everything.

“I’ll stop this,” he told me. “We’ll restore your garden, I swear.” The next morning, I woke up hoping it was all a bad dream, but the construction crew was back, digging even deeper. And that’s when karma showed up—in the form of our rule-abiding neighbor, Mrs. Jensen. She and Richard never got along, and she wasted no time confronting him. “Richard, did you know there are regulations about how close you can dig to the property line?” she asked sweetly. Richard tried to brush her off, but she was already calling the city inspector. Within an hour, he arrived, assessed the mess, and declared the entire project illegal. “You’ll need to fill this in immediately, and there will be a fine for proceeding without permits,” he said. Richard protested, but it was useless. And just when things couldn’t get worse, the workers hit an old water pipe. Water gushed everywhere, flooding the yard and the basement. Richard, in his favorite suit, slipped and landed face-first in the mud. Tom and I stood on the porch watching, both horrified and amazed. In the end, Richard had to pay for everything: the fine, the broken pipe, the cleanup, and repairing the damage. After that, he stopped talking about home improvement projects. He now spends most of his time quietly in his room, and even the word “pool” makes him scowl and walk away. As for me, I replanted my garden, and it’s thriving once again. Mrs. Jensen and I are now friends, and she always jokes, “No new pools today, right?” whenever she sees me outside. Tom and I even share the story at dinner parties—it’s become our signature tale. And while it was painful at the time, the whole ordeal brought us closer and reminded us that sometimes karma really does work—especially when someone messes with your flowers.