When my grandparents planted that apple tree fifty years ago, they never could have imagined it would become the center of a legal battle, ruin a neighborly peace, and spark the rise of three towering trees of revenge.
I’m thirty-five now, living in the house my late grandparents left me. It’s a quiet little home I’ve been fixing up, one room at a time. Some things I’ve modernized, but a lot I’ve kept just the way they had it—like the bright kitchen tiles Grandma picked out back in the ‘70s, the creaky stair my grandpa always refused to fix, and most importantly… the apple tree.
That tree was everything. My grandparents planted it the day they moved in, using a sapling from my grandfather’s family orchard. It grew as our family grew. I spent my childhood summers in its branches, fell asleep in its shade, picked its fruit for pies. It wasn’t just a tree—it was history. It was love. It was them.
And then Brad and Karen moved in.
Brad was loud, impatient, and always looked like he was angry at the world. Karen walked around like the queen of the block, always clutching a Starbucks cup like it was her royal staff. They’d been here less than three weeks before Karen knocked on my door.
She flashed me a tight smile and said, “Hi. So… we’ve been planning our backyard, and your tree is kind of a problem.”
I blinked. “A problem?”
“It blocks all the afternoon sun,” she said, crossing her arms. “We’re putting in a hot tub, and that shade just kills the vibe.”
I tilted my head. “But the tree’s on my side. It doesn’t cross the fence.”
Her smile dropped. “Yeah, but sunlight doesn’t respect property lines, right?”
The very next day, Brad came pounding on my door like he was ready to break it down.
“You really gonna be like this?” he barked. “It’s just a tree.”
“It’s my grandparents’ tree,” I said firmly. “It’s been here fifty years.”
He scoffed. “So what? They’re not around to miss it.”
That one cut deep. My hands shook, but I kept my voice steady. “That tree means something. You’ve got plenty of yard. Move the hot tub.”
Karen appeared behind him, rolling her eyes. “You’re being unreasonable. Don’t you want to be neighborly?”
“I’m not cutting it down,” I snapped.
Silence. Tense and heavy.
Trying to soften it, I added, “I’ll bring over some apples when they ripen.”
Karen wrinkled her nose like I’d offered her poison. “Yeah, no thanks.”
I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.
Three days into my vacation, my phone buzzed. It was Rachel, the sweet neighbor across the street who always brought me zucchini bread every fall.
Her text read: Hey, I think Brad and Karen had some guys in their yard. Looked like tree work.
My stomach dropped.
I called her right away. “Rachel—what did you see?”
Her voice was uneasy. “Two guys in orange vests. Chainsaws. Wood chipper in the driveway. I didn’t think they’d actually—”
I didn’t even let her finish. I opened my home security app. Even with the bad Wi-Fi at my cabin, the blurry footage was enough. Strangers in my yard. Chainsaws near the tree.
The next morning, I drove eight hours straight. No music, no stops. Just the pounding of my heart and my fingers drumming the wheel.
When I pulled into my driveway, I already knew. But seeing it? I wasn’t ready.
My grandparents’ apple tree was gone. All that remained was a raw, splintered stump surrounded by sawdust, like the body of something sacred that had been butchered. I stood there in shock, the smell of fresh-cut wood filling my lungs, sharp and sickly sweet.
I walked into the yard like I was at a funeral. My chest ached, my throat tight. And then I marched straight to their door.
Karen opened it, smiling like she was hosting a cocktail party, wine glass in hand.
“Hey there!” she chirped.
My voice cracked as I screamed, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY TREE?!”
She didn’t even flinch. She sipped her wine and said, “We had it taken down. You’re welcome. Now we finally have sunlight.”
Brad swaggered into view behind her. “Yeah. You can thank us when you see how much better your yard looks.”
I shook with rage. “That tree was on MY property. You had NO right!”
Karen rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It was just a tree. You’re being dramatic.”
Something inside me snapped. But instead of exploding, I turned and walked away. Not because I was done—but because I was planning.
Behind me, Brad called, “Don’t forget to send us a thank-you card!”
The first step of revenge came quietly—with paperwork.
I called in a certified arborist, the kind of guy who gets flown into court to testify about tree law. He crouched beside the stump like a detective at a crime scene, measuring, taking photos, jotting notes.
After a while, he looked up and said, “You know this tree would be appraised at over eighteen thousand dollars, right?”
My jaw dropped. “Eighteen thousand?”
“Easily,” he said. “Mature, healthy, well-maintained, sentimental value. Trees like this don’t grow on every block.”
That was all I needed.
My lawyer drafted a letter of intent to sue—property damage, unlawful removal, trespassing. Sent certified mail, addressed to Brad and Karen.
But that wasn’t enough.
The very next morning, I hired landscapers. By evening, three towering evergreens stood tall along the fence. Fast-growing, dense, and perfectly within code. Their thick foliage blocked every ray of sunlight from touching Brad and Karen’s precious hot tub.
I stood admiring them when Brad stormed over, face red as a stoplight.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”
I turned, cool as ice. “Just replacing the tree you destroyed. Figured three was better than one.”
Karen rushed out, clutching her phone. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS! OUR HOT TUB WILL HAVE NO SUN! THIS IS HARASSMENT!”
I shrugged. “Nope. It’s called landscaping. Perfectly legal. Unlike what you did.”
Days later, they appeared on my porch, waving the legal letter like it was on fire.
Karen shrieked, “WHAT IS THIS?! EIGHTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?! FOR A TREE?!”
Brad roared, “YOU’RE CRAZY! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”
I calmly sipped my coffee. “Actually, I can. And I am.”
Karen’s voice cracked. “WE DON’T HAVE THAT KIND OF MONEY! YOU’RE RUINING US!”
Brad tried to argue. “We’ll countersue! You let the tree shade our property!”
I leaned forward. “Good luck. Everything’s documented. The tree was healthy, on my land, and you cut it illegally.”
Karen screeched, “YOU’RE EVIL! ALL OVER A TREE!”
I stood, looked her dead in the eye, and said, “No, Karen. YOU destroyed my tree. I’m just making sure you pay for it.”
And soon, their perfect backyard was ruined. Their hot tub sat in shadow, morning to night. No warm glow, no golden sunlight, just bitter, endless shade.
Every time I stepped outside with my coffee, I’d see Karen peeking through the blinds, glaring daggers. Sometimes she’d just stand there, arms crossed, pure hatred on her face.
One afternoon, I was watering my new trees when I heard her sliding door slam.
“YOU’RE DESTROYING OUR LIVES OVER A TREE!” she screamed, voice breaking.
I called back, “Funny. That’s exactly what you did.”
Brad appeared, looking exhausted. “This is insane! You’re turning the whole neighborhood against us!”
I raised an eyebrow. “No. You did that when you chainsawed a family tree while your neighbor was on vacation.”
Karen threw her arms up. “We said we were sorry! What more do you want?!”
I crossed my arms. “I want you to understand that actions have consequences. That’s it.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Karen’s eyes filled with tears. Brad’s fists clenched. But they had nothing left to say.
Meanwhile, the legal case rolled forward. With the arborist’s report, my security footage, and the trespassing claim, damages could reach twenty grand plus legal fees. The law was on my side.
And my three new trees? Thriving. Taller, greener, stronger with every passing week. By spring, their yard will be nothing but shadow. A living wall of karma.
Now, I sit under my little grove with my coffee. It’s not the same as my grandparents’ apple tree, but it’s comforting. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can almost hear them.
They always said, “Plant something worth keeping, and protect it with everything you’ve got.”
Turns out, I did both.
And one evening, as I sipped my coffee, I heard Karen’s voice drift bitterly over the fence:
“God, I wish we’d never moved here.”
I didn’t even turn. I just smiled into my cup and whispered, “Me too, Karen. Me too.”