Mrs. Johnson had moved in a few months ago. She was the type who always looked perfect. Every morning, she’d step out in her sharp business suit, heels clicking on the driveway as she rushed off.

She never waved at anyone, always too busy on her phone. The neighborhood watched her, but she kept her distance.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Live and let live, right? I had enough to worry about with my own life—keeping up with Ethan, my 12-year-old son, was a job in itself. I figured Mrs. Johnson was just private. No harm in that.

Then one day, Ethan came home, sweat dripping from his forehead. His shirt was soaked, and he looked like he’d been running for hours.

“Ethan, what happened?” I asked, walking over to him as he plopped down on the couch.

“Mrs. Johnson asked me to mow her lawn,” he panted. “She said she’d pay me twenty bucks.”

I glanced out the window at Mrs. Johnson’s yard. It was huge, easily the biggest in the neighborhood. Ethan had mowed the entire thing. It looked perfect, lines neat and clean.

“Two days,” Ethan said, wiping his face with his shirt. “It took me two whole days. But she said she’d pay me when I was done.”

I smiled at him, proud. Ethan was a good kid, always looking to help out. He’d been saving up for weeks to buy a food processor for his grandma’s birthday. The twenty dollars would help him get a little closer.

“Did she pay you yet?” I asked, still looking out the window.

“No, but I’m sure she will,” Ethan said, his voice hopeful.

I nodded. Mrs. Johnson might be distant, but stiffing a kid out of twenty bucks? Even she wouldn’t do that. Or so I thought.

A few days passed, and I noticed Ethan was quieter than usual. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self, and it worried me.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked one evening as he sat by the window, staring at Mrs. Johnson’s house.

“She hasn’t paid me yet,” he said softly.

I frowned. “Well, have you asked her?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah, I went over yesterday, but she told me she was busy and to come back later. So I went again today, and she told me… she told me to get lost.”

“What?” I gasped, shocked. “What do you mean ‘get lost’?”

My heart dropped, and my anger rose. This woman had tricked my son into doing two days of hard work and then refused to pay him. How dare she?

I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm for his sake, but inside I was boiling. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ll take care of it.”

Ethan gave me a small, trusting smile. But inside, I was already planning what I’d do next. Mrs. Johnson might think she was teaching my son a lesson, but she was about to learn one herself.

I sat on the porch the next morning, watching Mrs. Johnson pull out of her driveway, as polished as ever. The decision had been brewing inside me for days, and now, I felt no hesitation.

My son deserved justice, and if Mrs. Johnson wasn’t going to do the right thing, then I’d make sure she learned a lesson of her own. I got to making calls and leaving voice messages.

Around an hour later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mark, my old friend from high school, who now ran a small landscaping business. I explained the situation in a quick, hushed tone.

“So, you want me to… trim her hedges into weird shapes?” he chuckled on the other end of the line.

Mrs. Johnson took immense pride in her yard, especially her hedges. Every Saturday morning, without fail, she’d be out there, pruning the bushes with meticulous care.

She had them shaped into perfect, symmetrical forms that gave her house a neat, upscale appearance. To her, those hedges weren’t just plants—they were a statement.

“Exactly. Nothing destructive. Just enough to give them a funny look. She’s proud of that yard, and I want her to notice.”