My Neighbor Ran Over My Tree with His Luxury Car… Then Life Taught Him a Cruel Lesson

And I did. I shifted the tree. I dimmed the lights. I even tried placing a small screen. But it was never enough.

He paced along his driveway. He shouted from his porch. He muttered insults under his breath. Little by little, he made me feel powerless in my own yard. It stirred a familiar feeling—the one that had settled in after Harold died—like the world had quietly decided I no longer mattered.

Still, I kept decorating.

The tree wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t bothering anyone. It was simply alive.

Two nights ago, the cold was sharper than usual. My fingers ached as I placed the final ornament—a tiny silver star Harold had always loved. I stepped back to look at it, tears freezing on my lashes.