About a year ago, my wonderful neighbors sold their house and moved away.

The new owner was Kayla, a fancy realtor from the big city. Kayla had a reputation for flipping houses—she had flipped eight houses in twelve years. She always wore heels, blouses, and skirts, and her disdainful glances made it clear she thought herself above the rest of us in our cozy suburban neighborhood. Six months after moving in, Kayla showed up at my door with a stern look and a stack of papers in her hand. “This is a survey of our properties,” she began, her tone icy. “Your fence encroaches nine inches onto my property. You need to take it down immediately. And quite frankly, it looks awful and old. If you don’t remove it, I’ll sue. Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t comply.” Not wanting to cause a conflict, I reluctantly agreed to take down the fence. It had been there for years, but I figured it was better to keep the peace. A week after the fence came down, Kayla returned, but this time she was in tears, shaking and almost incoherent. “What have you done?! Please, return your old fence. I’ll pay you ANY AMOUNT for it,” she pleaded. Confused, I asked, “Why do you want the fence back so badly?” Kayla’s hands trembled as she handed me a letter she had received from the Homeowners’ Association (HOA). The letter stated that her property bordered a protected historic landmark—the old oak tree that had stood in our neighborhood for centuries. By removing the fence, she had inadvertently exposed the tree to potential damage, violating HOA regulations. The HOA required a sturdy barrier to protect the tree, and any damage to the tree would incur hefty fines. Without the fence, Kayla was liable for any damage caused to the tree. She had also angered the local historical society, who were very protective of the tree. If the fence wasn’t replaced, she faced not only fines but also potential legal action from the society. “I had no idea,” she sobbed. “I thought the fence was just an eyesore. I didn’t know it was protecting a historical site.” Seeing her distress, I agreed to help, but on my terms. I contacted a contractor to rebuild the fence, but this time, it would be an upgraded version—one that adhered to all the HOA guidelines. Kayla agreed to cover all the expenses. The new fence was erected within a week, and it looked much better than the old one. It was sturdy, aesthetically pleasing, and most importantly, it protected the historic oak tree. After everything was resolved, Kayla came to me, humbled. “I’m sorry for how I treated you,” she admitted. “I let my pride get the best of me.” “It’s okay,” I replied. “We all make mistakes. Just remember, this neighborhood is about community, not just property lines.” From that day on, Kayla’s attitude changed. She became more involved in the community, attended neighborhood events, and even started a garden that everyone admired. She learned her lesson the hard way, but it brought about a positive change in her. Karma had indeed taught her a lesson, and it also reminded me that sometimes, even the most entitled people can change with a little humility and understanding.