My Arrogant New Neighbors Made My Pristine Lawn Their Parking Lot – I May Be Old, but My Revenge Was Ruthless It was expected by new neighbors that Edna, an elderly widow, would put up with the intrusion when they parked their truck on her neat yard. But Edna wasn’t going to let them take over without a struggle; she was extremely protective of the house she and her late husband created. Here, we reared our two kids and watched them grow up before sending them off to start their own families. Even though it’s just the two of us now, every blade of grass in this yard brings back memories of the life we created. I’m Edna, and I’ve spent more than 50 years living in this house. All of my memories of my late spouse Harold are stored here. He made sure our little plot of land was ideal by pruning the hedges and planting the trees. Tom, our son, still visits frequently. He’s a wonderful lad; he always makes sure the gutters are clear and the yard is mowed. “You shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff, Mom,” he says in his soft-yet-assured voice. Knowing he has his own family and a demanding work schedule, I nod and grin. I don’t always complain since I don’t want to bother him. The house is silent now, as it has been since Harold’s death. Still, it’s my haven, full with memories and love. It is good to be silent, to have a nice blanket around my shoulders. That is, it was, anyway. New neighbors moved in next door a few weeks ago. A youthful couple, noisy and full of enthusiasm. I didn’t mind at first. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of folks come and go. These neighbors, though, are not like the others. I was having my cup of tea at the window one morning when I noticed something that broke my heart.
In the center of my lawn was parked a large, gleaming pickup vehicle. The grass was torn apart by deep tire imprints. My lovely, immaculate grass was destroyed. With a mixture of bewilderment and rage in my heart, I grabbed my cane and staggered outside. When I approached, the spouse emerged. Her tall stature, sultry features, and haughty demeanor caused my blood to boil. I said, trying not to stutter, “Excuse me. “There’s your truck on my grass. Would you kindly move it?