I never thought karma could hit so fast—but oh, it did. Grab a coffee, because this story is one wild ride.
I’m Lisa, a 40-year-old high school English teacher. I live with my husband Ben and my father-in-law Frank. Ben and I have been married for 15 years—life was peaceful, calm, and steady… until Frank moved in two years ago after my mother-in-law passed away.
Frank isn’t exactly the easiest person to live with. He’s the kind of man who always has an opinion and insists he’s right about everything. I’ve done my best to stay polite and keep the peace, mostly for Ben’s sake, but it hasn’t been easy.
Since we don’t have kids, my backyard garden became my pride and joy. It was my peaceful haven—a patch of bright flowers, green grass, and the sweet smell of life. Every bloom felt like an achievement. Gardening was my therapy, my escape from the chaos of teaching teenagers all day.
But Frank? He saw that same garden and thought, “What a waste of space.”
One evening over dinner, he cleared his throat and said, “Lisa, Ben—I’ve got an idea.”
I froze. Those words from Frank always spelled trouble.
“The backyard,” he continued. “We ought to put in a pool.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “A pool? Frank, there’s no room. And I love my garden.”
He waved me off. “You’ll thank me later. I get bored when you two are gone all day. A pool would be perfect for me and the guys.”
Ben tried to reason with him. “Dad, it’s not happening. Lisa worked hard on that garden, and a pool’s expensive.”
But Frank wouldn’t let it go. For weeks, he dropped hints—“Imagine how cool it’ll be in the summer,” or “Lisa, your flowers can’t compete with a pool.”
Finally, I told him straight: “No, Frank. I love my garden. The answer’s no.”
I thought that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
A few weeks later, Ben and I went to visit my parents for the weekend. When we got home Sunday night, I knew something was wrong before we even parked. The driveway was muddy, and the air smelled like fresh dirt.
Then I saw it.
My backyard—my beautiful garden—was gone. In its place was a massive pit, piles of dirt everywhere, and crushed flowers scattered like confetti. Standing proudly in the middle was Frank, smiling ear to ear.
“Back already?” he said. “I got the pool started for you. No need to thank me.”
I couldn’t even speak. Ben exploded. “Dad! We told you no!”
Frank shrugged. “You’ll love it when it’s done. Got a deal from some guys in town.”
I felt tears burn my eyes. Years of work, destroyed in a weekend.
Ben wrapped his arm around me. “Don’t cry, honey. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
The next morning, I hoped it was just a bad dream—but when I looked out the window, the diggers were still there.
That’s when karma stepped in.
Our neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, was out walking her dog. She’s known for following every rule in the book—and for not liking Frank. She walked right up to him, sweet as sugar.
“Frank, dear,” she said. “Did you know you can’t dig that close to the property line without a permit?”
Frank scoffed. “Mind your business, Ellen. I know what I’m doing.”
Mrs. Wilson smiled. “Oh, I’m sure. But just to be safe, I’ll call my friend at the city inspector’s office.”
Frank went pale. Within the hour, an inspector arrived, clipboard in hand.
“This is an unapproved excavation,” he said. “You’ll have to fill it immediately. And you’ll be fined for starting without a permit.”
Frank sputtered. “But—but—”
No use. Karma was just getting started.
As the workers began filling the pit, a sudden crack rang out—and water started spraying everywhere. They’d hit a water pipe. Within minutes, our yard turned into a swamp.
Frank slipped and landed face-first in the mud. His favorite suit was ruined, and the “pool” he’d dreamed of had literally drowned him—in fines, repairs, and humiliation.
He had to pay for everything: the fine, the broken pipe, the cleanup, and even the water damage to the basement.
After that, Frank never mentioned another home project. In fact, even the word “pool” makes him flinch.
It took time, but I rebuilt my garden—stronger, brighter, and more beautiful than ever. Mrs. Wilson and I even became friends. She still jokes, “Anyone digging in your yard lately?”
Ben and I laugh every time. When we tell this story at dinner parties, everyone’s jaw drops.
“Did he really dig the whole backyard?” they ask.
“Oh, he did,” I reply. “And karma did the rest.”
Looking back, I’m oddly grateful. It taught Frank a lesson—and reminded me how lucky I am to have a husband who’ll always stand by me, no matter how deep the trouble (or the hole).
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