Lily is ten, and she’s my greatest accomplishment. She’s sensitive, kind, and sees the world in colors most adults have long forgotten. She’s the kind of child who leaves thank-you notes for the mailman and bakes cookies for our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Thompson, just because she thought she “looked a little lonely today.”

Being Lily’s mom is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Even though the journey hasn’t always been easy, especially since I’ve been doing it solo for the past nine years after parting ways with her father, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Despite the challenges of balancing work and raising Lily, dealing with financial pressures, and facing the emotional ups and downs of single motherhood, Lily has been my rock. She’s kept me grounded, just as much as I’ve been her anchor.

We’ve been living in this quaint neighborhood for about five years now, and it’s a place we both cherish. It’s not extravagant, but it’s cozy, and it feels like home. Our neighborhood is the kind where people know each other, wave as they drive by, and swap gardening tips on weekends. Summers here are especially delightful, with kids riding bikes, the scent of barbecues in the air, and yard sales on every corner. Lily loves it here, and so do I.

Our garden is our little sanctuary. Every evening, Lily and I sit outside, surrounded by the soft glow of our solar  lights, which we installed together last spring. Lily picked them out, insisting that our garden needed some “fairy magic.” It’s our special spot, where we talk about her day, her ever-changing dreams of becoming an astronaut, and whatever else is on her mind.

Then Meredith moved in next door a few months ago. Meredith is… well, she’s a piece of work. At 33, she’s always impeccably dressed in tailored suits, even on weekends, and struts around in high heels as if she’s about to close a million-dollar deal. She works in finance, drives a shiny new BMW, and has a garden with perfectly pruned roses and manicured hedges—clearly an investment of both time and money.

But her attitude? Let’s just say neighborly isn’t in her vocabulary. She keeps to herself, never smiles, and wouldn’t be caught dead making small talk over the fence. And the day she complained about the neighborhood kids playing too close to her lawn, I knew we were in for a bumpy ride.

At first, I didn’t pay much attention to her. I figured she was just one of those people who preferred solitude, and that was fine by me. But then she decided my little  solar lights were her problem.

Almost a week after she moved in, Meredith began showing up at my door every evening, complaining about the lights. “They’re too bright and shining into my bedroom window. You need to remove them,” she demanded. I thought it was a one-time complaint, but she wouldn’t let it go. She even tried to rally other neighbors against my lights, claiming they kept her up all night.

It was ridiculous. The lights weren’t bright at all—they had a soft glow that flickered out by midnight. I tried to reason with her, explaining they were solar-powered and not very bright, but she wouldn’t have it. “I don’t care. They need to go,” she snapped.

This whole ordeal was hard on Lily. She loved those lights—they were our little project. Every time Meredith stomped over to complain, I could see the disappointment in Lily’s eyes. She didn’t understand why our neighbor was so upset, and frankly, neither did I.

I wasn’t planning on removing the lights—why should I? But then one day, Meredith stormed over with a look of pure anger. “Cecelia, these lights are a nuisance, and if you don’t remove them, I’ll get the AUTHORITIES INVOLVED!” she yelled.

I was furious, but I didn’t want a scene, especially not one that would upset Lily. So, I took a deep breath and decided to take the lights down, hoping it would bring some peace.

Later that evening, as I was pulling the lights out of the ground, Lily came outside. “Mom, why are you taking them down?” she asked, her eyes full of confusion.

I knelt beside her and held her close. “Sweetheart, Meredith isn’t happy with the lights, so we’re just going to take them down for now. But I promise, we’ll put up even better ones soon, okay? Maybe some that look like little stars.”

Lily nodded, but I could tell she was upset.

We went to bed that night, thinking that would be the end of it, but we had no idea how quickly things were about to change.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by loud banging on the front door. I groggily made my way downstairs, wondering who could be causing such a commotion so early. Peeking through the peephole, I was shocked to see Meredith—but not the polished, put-together Meredith I was used to. She looked completely different—messy hair, dull skin, and wearing what looked like pajamas.

I opened the door, barely hiding my surprise. Before I could even ask what was going on, she blurted out, “What did you do?! Put those solar  lights back up IMMEDIATELY because my yard is ruined!”

I blinked at her, completely taken aback. Was this some kind of joke? Just yesterday, she was threatening to call the authorities if I didn’t take the lights down, and now she was demanding I put them back. What on earth was going on?

“Meredith, what are you talking about? You insisted we take them down, so we did,” I replied, utterly confused.

“That was a mistake!” she wailed.

She explained that since the lights were off, raccoons from the nearby forest had invaded her garden, tearing up her expensive plants and chewing up everything in sight. “I… I couldn’t do anything,” she stammered. “I was too scared to go outside and chase them off. I just watched as they ruined my beautiful garden.”

I listened, keeping my expression neutral as she continued. When she finally paused, I smirked and said, “I warned you those lights served a purpose.”

Meredith’s eyes filled with tears, and she was on the verge of breaking down. She practically begged me, “Please, put the lights back up. And could you help me clean up the mess in my yard?”

Even in her desperate state, there was still that underlying tone of entitlement, as if this whole mess was somehow my fault and I should drop everything to help her out.

But I had reached my limit. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Meredith, but that’s not really my problem. You made it clear you didn’t want those lights. So, I suggest you call a professional to deal with your yard.”

“But…”

“I hope the mess gets sorted out soon, Meredith,” I cut her off with a smile. “Have a nice day.”

And with that, I shut the door, leaving her standing there.

Over the next few weeks, Meredith spent countless hours and a small fortune trying to restore her garden. Meanwhile, Lily and I put our  solar lights back up, adding a few extra ones just for good measure.

This whole experience taught me that karma really does have a way of balancing things out. Meredith wanted those lights gone, and she got exactly what she asked for—just with a little extra on the side.

So, what would you have done in my shoes?