When my father-in-law, Richard, flattened my cherished backyard garden to dig an unauthorized pool, I was beyond furious. But as they say, karma has its ways—and what followed turned his dream project into a complete disaster.
I never imagined I’d witness such swift justice, but karma came knocking—and it came hard. Get comfortable, because this story is one wild ride.
First, a little about me. I’m Linda, a 40-year-old high school English teacher. I live with my husband, Tom, and his father, Richard.
Tom and I have been happily married for 15 years and have been together since our college days. Life was fairly peaceful until about two years ago, when Richard moved in after losing his wife.
Richard isn’t exactly the easiest housemate. He has a strong opinion on everything and thinks he’s always right. Our relationship has always been tense, but I did my best to keep things civil for Tom’s sake.
Living together, however, wasn’t easy. With no kids of our own, I’d found joy and calm in gardening. I turned our backyard into my own personal haven—lush grass, vibrant flowers, and beds full of blooms I raised from seeds. Gardening wasn’t just a pastime—it was therapy.
Every spare minute, I was out there, pruning, planting, and finding peace among the petals. It was the one place where I felt in control and deeply content.
But Richard? He had other plans.
One evening over dinner, he casually announced, “You know what we need? A pool.”
Tom and I exchanged wary glances. Richard’s ideas were rarely harmless.
“A pool?” I asked, stunned. “In our backyard?”
Richard brushed off my concerns. “We’ll make it fit. I’m bored while you two are at work. A pool would be great for me and my buddies—especially in this heat.”
Tom tried to reason with him. “Dad, Linda’s poured years into that garden. You can’t just wipe it out. Plus, a pool is a huge responsibility—and expensive.”
But Richard wouldn’t drop it. Every day, he brought it up like a broken record. “Imagine how relaxing it’ll be,” he’d say. “Think of the pool parties!”
I stayed firm. “No. The yard is too small. I love that garden. It’s not going to happen.”
I thought I’d shut the idea down for good. I was wrong.
One weekend, Tom and I went to visit my parents. Just a quick trip—left Saturday morning and planned to return Sunday evening. When we got home, I knew something was off the moment we pulled into the driveway. Muddy tire tracks covered the front yard.
My heart sank as we walked around back.
My entire garden was gone. In its place was a massive hole, surrounded by mounds of dirt and the scattered remains of my beloved plants.
And there, in the middle of the chaos, stood Richard—grinning.
“Welcome back!” he called out. “I got started on the pool. No need to thank me.”
I was speechless. Tom, however, lost it. “Dad! Are you serious? We told you not to do this!”
Richard waved him off. “You’ll thank me when it’s done. I got a great deal on the equipment.”
Tears welled up as I looked at the wreckage. Years of care and love—destroyed in a weekend.
Tom wrapped his arm around me and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll make this right. I’ll get the yard fixed. Just please don’t cry.”
But the next morning, reality hit hard again. The diggers were back.
And that’s when karma arrived—in the form of our nosy but sharp-eyed neighbor, Mrs. Jensen. Walking her tiny dog Buster, she spotted the backyard mess and made a beeline for Richard.
“Richard, dear,” she said sweetly, “do you know how close you’re digging to the property line? Pretty sure that’s a big no-no.”
Richard scoffed. “I know what I’m doing. Stay out of it, Margaret.”
Her smile only grew. “Well, the city inspector’s a friend of mine. I think I’ll give him a call—just to be safe.”
Richard paled. Mrs. Jensen was already dialing.
An hour later, the inspector showed up, took one look, and frowned. “This is all against code. You’ll need to fill this in immediately.”
Richard stammered, “But… wait…”
The inspector held up a hand. “You’ll also be fined for unauthorized construction.”
I could barely contain my satisfaction. Karma was in full swing.
And it wasn’t done yet.
As the crew began filling the hole back in, there was a sudden, loud crack—followed by water gushing from the ground. They’d hit an old water pipe. Within minutes, the yard turned into a swamp.
Richard slipped in the mud, landing flat on his face—wearing his favorite (and now ruined) suit. He stood up dripping, yelling at the contractors as water continued to flood the space.
Tom and I watched from the porch, stunned and silent. Richard’s backyard paradise was literally drowning.
In the end, he had to pay for the pipe repairs, fines, yard restoration, and even cleanup from a flooded basement. It was a brutal—and expensive—lesson in respecting boundaries.
From that day on, Richard dropped all home improvement ambitions. He mostly keeps to himself now, and even the word “pool” makes him scowl and leave the room.
As for me, I’ve been slowly rebuilding my garden. It’s not just restored—it’s thriving. Every flower is a symbol of standing my ground. And Mrs. Jensen? She’s become a good friend. Every time she sees me gardening, she winks and says, “No new pool plans today, I hope?”
Tom and I still laugh about it. At every dinner party, the story makes its way around.
“Did we ever tell you about the time Richard tried to build a pool?” Tom will ask, and everyone leans in.
Looking back, I’m almost glad it happened. It brought Tom and me even closer and proved that standing up for what matters is always worth it.
So if you’re dealing with someone who doesn’t respect your space, just be patient. Karma might just be waiting to make a splash.