At first, I thought my neighbor admired my garden—she planted similar flowers and mimicked my layout, which felt flattering at first. But soon, she copied everything: the same roses, identical stepping stones, the whole design. My personal sanctuary was now duplicated across the fence, and it started to feel invasive.
Gardening is more than a hobby to me—it’s my therapy. Every plant, every scent, every placement is intentional. So when Courtney’s garden became a carbon copy of mine, I grew suspicious.
To test her, I planted an ugly orange marigold. Sure enough, it appeared in her yard too—then vanished two days later, just like mine. That’s when I realized she wasn’t just copying me—she was watching.
After a storm knocked down the fence, I found a hidden camera aimed at my garden. Furious, I confronted her. She tried to lie, then admitted she just “admired my style.” I didn’t believe her—but I had a plan.
The next day, I faked using a “plant killer” on my garden. A few days later, her yard was completely dead.
She came to my door, drained and broken. Her confession changed everything: her husband had pushed her to be more like me, to copy everything—even my porch.
For the first time, I saw not a thief, but a woman trying to survive. I told her she deserved her own space, and together, we started fresh.
Months later, her garden bloomed—not as a replica, but as her own. And one day, while admiring her work, she said quietly, “It’s been a month since I kicked him out.”
Leave a Reply