A freshly cut lawn shouldn’t feel like a battleground. But after my divorce, my yard became my sanctuary—until Sabrina decided it was her personal racetrack.
Every morning, her SUV would carve a new path through my flowerbeds. When I confronted her, she’d shrug it off. “Your flowers will grow back,” she’d say, as if my hard work meant nothing.
I wasn’t just angry—I was done being ignored.
First, I buried chicken wire under the grass. The look on her face when her tire blew was priceless. Then came the legal threats—her lawyer claimed I’d “endangered” her. So, I fought back with cold, hard proof: photos, surveys, and a paper trail that shut her down fast.
But Sabrina didn’t learn.
So, I bought a motion-activated sprinkler. The next time her Lexus veered onto my lawn, it was met with a jet of water strong enough to send her scrambling.
She never drove over my grass again.
Her husband, Seth, later brought me lavender as a peace offering. “She’s… spirited,” he muttered. I just smiled.
Some battles aren’t about lawns—they’re about standing your ground. And this time, I did.
