Gardening is more than just a hobby for me—it’s my passion, my therapy, and what makes my house feel truly like home. Every plant, every flower, every vine is a part of me.
I don’t just plant; I carefully design my space, shaping the earth with my hands to create something that feels like an extension of who I am. I spend hours choosing the right plants, adjusting layouts, and nurturing growth. I know exactly where the sunlight falls, which plants thrive in each corner, and the right balance of soil and water.
At first, I didn’t mind when my neighbor, Courtney, started making similar gardening choices—just a few tulips here, some lavender there. But soon, her garden started to look eerily like mine, with the same colors, arrangements, and even the decorative stones I had spent weeks picking out.
It wasn’t a coincidence. Courtney had been watching me, copying my every move. To test my suspicion, I planted a bright orange marigold, a color I disliked, in the center of my garden. A week later, Courtney had one exactly the same in hers. This confirmed my fears—she was spying on me.
I started working in my yard during the evenings, hiding my changes from her prying eyes. But then a storm came and destroyed my fence, leaving me with no privacy. As I inspected the damage, I found a tiny camera hidden in the fence, pointing directly at my yard. Courtney had been spying on me all along.
I confronted her, and she admitted to copying my garden under pressure from her husband, who constantly told her she wasn’t good enough. She had been too scared to stand up to him. Hearing her story softened my anger, and I realized she wasn’t just an obsessive neighbor; she was a woman trapped in a controlling relationship.
We decided to create her own garden, something unique to her. Months later, we stood together, admiring her new space. It wasn’t a copy of mine; it was hers, filled with her own choices. For the first time in a long while, Courtney smiled. And I knew, in that moment, she was free.
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