My Neighbor Refused to Pay Me $250 for Cleaning Her House as We Agreed, I Taught Her a Fair Lesson

It took me two full days to clean Emery’s house. It was like a warzone—bottles, half-eaten food, and garbage strewn everywhere. By the time I finished, my back ached, my hands were raw, and I was utterly exhausted, but I kept reminding myself of that $250.

When Emery finally returned, I headed over to collect my payment. “Your place is spotless,” I said, too tired to hide my relief. “So, about the payment…”

She blinked at me, her expression blank. “Payment? What payment?”

My stomach dropped. “The $250 for cleaning your house. You promised me.”

Her face shifted from confusion to irritation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Prudence. I never agreed to pay you.”

I stood there, stunned. “What? You absolutely promised me! We had a deal.”

“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, brushing past me as she hurried to her car. “Look, I’m late for work. I don’t have time for this.”

As she drove away, my shock quickly morphed into rage. Two days of back-breaking work, and she had the nerve to pretend we never made an agreement. I paced my living room, fuming. I couldn’t let her get away with this.

That’s when an idea took hold. It wasn’t the most moral plan, but I didn’t care. Desperate times, desperate measures.

I went to the local dump, put on gloves, and filled my car with as much garbage as it could hold. The stench was unbearable, but my anger pushed me forward.

The street was quiet when I arrived at Emery’s house. No one was around to witness as I piled trash bags on her doorstep. Then I remembered—Emery had left her house key with me before she left town. She’d been in such a rush, she forgot to take it back.

I hesitated for a moment, but the memory of her dismissive attitude sealed my decision. I unlocked her door and stepped inside. Her house was still immaculate, but that wouldn’t last long. I tore open the bags, dumping the rancid contents—rotten food, dirty diapers, old newspapers—across her floors, counters, and even her bed.

“This is what you get, Emery,” I muttered as I locked the door behind me, slipping the key under the mat before heading home.

That evening, as I put Connie to bed, there was furious banging on my front door. I didn’t need to open it to know who it was.

“What the hell did you do to my house?!” Emery screamed, her face flushed with rage.

I leaned casually against the doorframe. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I never had the key, remember? No agreement, no key.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She looked ready to explode, but all she could do was stomp off, muttering about calling the police.

I didn’t care. She had learned her lesson: don’t mess with Prudence.

As I closed the door, I let out a long breath, feeling lighter. Sure, I’d crossed a line, but sometimes you have to stand up for yourself—even if it means getting your hands dirty. And Emery? She wouldn’t be asking for any more favors from me anytime soon.

What would you have done in my place?