While my seven-year-old daughter was fighting for her life in the hospital with severe pneumonia, my neighbor decided to throw rotten tomatoes at my front door. Why? Because I hadn’t put up Halloween decorations early enough to suit her.
You know those days when everything feels overwhelming, and you’re just trying to survive? That’s been my life recently. Between working double shifts at the diner and spending all my free time at the hospital with Lacey, I’ve been surviving on caffeine and pure willpower.
It all started with what I thought was just a regular cold. Lacey came home from school on a Tuesday with a small cough. It didn’t seem like anything serious. But by Friday night, she was burning up with a high fever.
“Mommy, I don’t feel good,” she said, struggling to breathe.
That’s when I realized something was really wrong.
I didn’t even wait for an ambulance. I wrapped her in a blanket and drove straight to the ER as fast as I could. My whole life is Lacey, and I wasn’t going to waste a second.
The doctors acted quickly, thank goodness.
They started throwing around scary words like “severe pneumonia,” “aggressive infection,” and “extended stay” while they ran tests on her. After what felt like forever, the ER doctor sat down with me.
“The infection is in both lungs,” he said gently. “She’ll need intensive treatment. We’re looking at a minimum of three weeks in the hospital.”
“Three weeks?” I stared at him, shocked. “But… I have to work. My insurance doesn’t cover everything.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s focus on getting her better first. We can help you with payment plans later.”
I’ve been doing this single-mom thing for five years, ever since Mark left us for his younger secretary. The divorce hit us hard, but Lacey and I are fighters. We didn’t let his bad choices bring us down.
I started working extra shifts as a waitress after the divorce. Learning to live on a single income wasn’t easy, but I made it work by saving every dollar and cutting out unnecessary spending.
Last year, we finally moved into a “better” neighborhood. The kind where the HOA rules are treated like the law.
“Alice, hon, tables 4 and 6 need you,” Maria called during another busy dinner shift.
Maria has been my rock through all of this, covering for me when my hospital visits run late.
“On it!” I replied, tucking my phone into my apron after checking another message from Lacey’s doctors. The hospital bills were piling up fast, but what could I do? My daughter needed me, and I had to work harder for her.
“You look exhausted,” Maria said as she poured more coffee. “When’s the last time you got some real sleep?”
I just shook my head. “Sleep’s not something I can afford right now. Between the hospital and these double shifts…”
“Well, at least you’ve got good neighbors to help out, right?” Maria asked.
I let out a bitter laugh, thinking about Carla, my neighbor two doors down. That woman could put surveillance cameras to shame.
Ever since we moved in, Carla has made herself the neighborhood’s self-appointed watchdog.
Just last month, she caused a scene with the Hendersons across the street. They had painted their door navy blue. It’s a normal color, right?
Not for Carla. She measured it against the HOA rules, took photos, and sent a long email to everyone about how it was the wrong shade of blue. The poor Hendersons had to repaint their door to avoid a fine.
“Remember when she reported Janet’s book club to the HOA?” I said to Maria. “She claimed Janet was ‘running a business’ just because there were a few extra cars parked outside. It was just a book club!”
Carla watches everyone from her windows, noting when we bring in our trash cans and check our mail. I’ve caught her peeking through her blinds so many times.
So it didn’t surprise me when she started spamming our HOA chat about Halloween decorations in mid-September.
Every day, there was a new message about “keeping the neighborhood festive” and “maintaining property values.”
But with Lacey in the hospital, Halloween decorations were the last thing on my mind.
Then my phone buzzed. A message from Carla, this time sent directly to me. My heart sank as I opened it.
“Are you special or something? Why haven’t you decorated for Halloween yet? It’s almost the end of October, and your house is ruining the neighborhood’s vibe. It’s embarrassing.”
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm as I typed my reply.
“Carla, I’m sorry. My daughter has been in the hospital for two weeks. She’s really sick, and I’ve spent all my money on her medicine and bills. I don’t think I’ll be able to put up decorations this year.”
She didn’t respond, so I assumed she moved on to something else. I had no idea how wrong I was.
After three long weeks, Lacey was finally well enough to come home.
We pulled into our driveway just as the sun was setting, talking about how good it would feel to sleep in our own beds.
Then we smelled it. A disgusting, rotten odor that made me gag.
Our front door was covered in smashed, rotten tomatoes. The red pulp dripped down the wood, and seeds were stuck everywhere. In the middle of the mess was a note. It read:
“Now at least it looks like Halloween. No need to thank me.”
“Mommy, why does our house smell bad?” Lacey asked.
I didn’t have an answer for her. I was shaking with anger.
I got Lacey settled inside, made sure she was comfortable, and then stormed over to Carla’s house. I could see her peeking through her blinds as I approached.
When she opened the door, she smiled smugly. “Enjoying the Halloween decorations?”
“Are you serious, Carla?” I yelled. “I told you what was happening. My daughter was in the hospital, and you did this?”
She rolled her eyes. “I thought you were just making excuses. Everyone decorates, and it’s unfair for you to spoil it for the rest of us. I figured the tomatoes would remind you to get in the spirit.”
Before I could respond, her husband Dan came to the door. He was horrified when he heard what his wife had done.
“Carla, what were you thinking?” he yelled. “You did what?”
Chaos broke out as Dan dragged Carla inside, scolding her for her behavior. I could hear phrases like “completely unacceptable” and “lost your mind.”
Dan came back to the door, clearly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up and pay for any damages. Carla, apologize right now.”
Carla muttered the most insincere apology I’d ever heard.
But karma had its way that night.
A huge storm hit the neighborhood, with strong winds and heavy rain. The next morning, I looked out my window and saw Carla’s Halloween decorations destroyed. Her inflatables were scattered, her pumpkins were ruined, and her fancy skeletons were broken.
Dan kept his promise and came over early to clean up the mess on my door. “How’s your daughter doing?” he asked as he scrubbed.
“She’s getting better every day,” I replied. “Thanks for asking. And thanks for everything else.”
Carla hasn’t spoken to me since, and I’m enjoying the silence. Every time I walk past her empty lawn, I can’t help but smile.
Sometimes, karma doesn’t just come around. It hits like a storm.
