But that wasn’t the end.
She kept speeding by, just inches away, like a storm cloud waiting to break. If paperwork didn’t stop her, I needed a solution with impact.
That’s when I found it: a motion-activated sprinkler system. Originally marketed to deter deer and raccoons, it had enough pressure to catch a speeding SUV off guard.
I buried it in mulch, camouflaged it with fresh petunias, and waited.
💦 The Day the Sprinkler Spoke
Sabrina’s white Lexus rolled in, oblivious. As soon as her tire hit the hidden zone—WHOOOOSH!
The water hit the wheel well, the open window, and Sabrina’s perfectly styled hair. She shrieked, slammed the brakes, and jumped out—soaked, confused, and furious.
She never touched my yard again.
🌱 Healing Through Home Projects
A week later, a soft knock at the door.
It was Seth. Older than I expected, holding a lavender plant like it could make things right.
“I’m Seth,” he said quietly. “Sabrina’s husband. I just… wanted to apologize.”
He looked like a man who had been apologizing for a long time, for things he couldn’t control.
I took the plant. Said nothing. Planted it later that evening beside a blooming rose bush.
💬 A Final Word
It wasn’t just about chicken wire or sprinklers or crushed daisies.
It was about reclaiming space—physically, legally, emotionally.
My yard bloomed again. Slowly. Patiently. Like I did.
The chicken wire is gone now. But the sprinkler? Still there. Not out of revenge—but remembrance. A reminder that peace, sometimes, needs to be protected.
And sometimes, the thing that heals you… comes disguised as a spinning jet of cold water and a half-planted lavender bush.
