Rich Neighbor’s Son Broke My Window with a Ball — They Refused to Pay, but Karma Came from a Place They Least Expected

I anticipated an apology and a repair when the baseball that my snobby neighbor’s son threw through my window broke. Rather, they intimidated me and declined to pay. However, karma came around with a much better payoff in the most unexpected way!

Folks, take note! Imagine yourself arranging the table with a dish that you have dedicated your entire being to. All of a sudden—WHAM! A baseball smashes into your dessert after smashing through your window, breaking glass. Even worse, your small girl was only a few inches away from receiving a headshake. It sounds scary. That’s precisely what occurred with me.

I’m 36-year-old Angela, a proud single mother of my 6-year-old firecracker Penny, as well as the fur-mom of Bella the cat and Pancy the poodle.

At the end of Maple Street, in a little piece of suburban paradise, the four of us reside in a comfortable cottage.

Norman Rockwell would be so happy looking at our small family portrait that he would cry. However, every masterpiece requires its antagonist, and ours happens to live next door.

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I give you Baron Bigshot, the bane of my life.

Alright, that isn’t his true name. But believe me, it fits him like one of his dozen or so custom-tailored Armani suits.

Imagine a middle-aged man who wears a watch that costs more money a year than I do. He also has a permanent scowl. For you, that’s Baron Bigshot.

Now, I don’t tend to assess people according to their financial account balances. However, I draw the line when your neighbor’s way of life begins to interfere with your mental health.

Let’s go back to that fateful Saturday morning when everything began.

“Mom, can I play outside?” Penny enquired, her large sparkling eyes beseeching.

I looked out the window and sighed. “I’m sorry, my love. Baron Big—that is, the son of Mr. Next Door is back in the baseball league.”

Penny’s expression darkened. “But why can’t I play in our yard?”

How do you tell a six-year-old that our neighbor’s spawn and his aimlessness are to blame for our yard turning into a battle zone?

It all began a few months ago when the 15-year-old holy terror known as Baron Bigshot’s “precious little angel” fell in love with baseball.

While I support children being active, this wasn’t just play. This was like having a bunch of coffee-drinking squirrels next to you in a batting cage.

The area turned into a baseball minefield.

While gardening, poor Mrs. Franklin received the shock of her life. She was plucking weeds from the bottom up when—THWACK! A fastball made its way up to her butt. Hurt!

“Oh, dear Lord!” She let out a yell and sprung up like a scared cat. If I hadn’t been so terrified, I would have laughed.

Next came Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson was a kind old man who enjoyed nothing more than reading Hemingway on his front porch.

In an instant, he was transported to the world of “The Old Man and the Sea,” and not in a symbolic sense.

As the paramedics placed him into the ambulance, he said, “I’ve lived through war, but I never thought I’d be taken down by a teenager with a baseball.”

Our neighbors started hardening their houses one by one. Windows vanished behind wooden planks, transforming our quaint neighborhood into an odd cross between a zombie movie set and Mayberry.

But me? I waited. Call it obstinacy or just plain stupidity, but I wouldn’t board up my windows like we were getting ready for a hurricane.

Pancy and Bella loved to sunbathe by that front window, and I was not about to take it away from them, for heaven’s sake.

One day Mrs. Stewart told me, “Angela, you’re playing with fire.” “That boy’s aim is about as good as a drunk playing darts.”

I simply shrugged. “What are the odds, right?”

Apparently, the cards were stacked against me. Because it was while I was assembling lunch on that fateful Saturday that it occurred.

Penny was lying down on the floor of the living room, her coloring books all over the place like a rainbow burst. Pancy was cuddled up next to Bella, and every now and then she would peek longingly at the blueberry pie that cooled on the windowsill.

I was feeling like a domestic goddess, singing to myself, and then all of a sudden—CRASH!

There was the sound of glass breaking, and then a dull “plop.” As I turned and watched in terror as glass fragments rained down, just missing Penny’s head, time seemed to slow down.

She cried out, “Mommy!” her eyes wide with terror.

I hurried to her, picking her up and making sure she wasn’t hurt. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re safe with Mommy.”

However, when I held my kid who was shaking, I sensed something else rising within me. fury. Unadulterated, pure fury.

With the offending baseball clenched in my fist like a grenade, I marched outdoors. Baron Bigshot was polishing his fancy automobile in his driveway, the kind of attention most people save for their new babies.

“Hey!” I yelled as I charged towards him. “I just seen your son’s baseball through my window. My daughter was almost hit by it!”

He hardly looked up. “Oh? Are you certain that was my son’s ball as well?

I pushed the ball covered in blueberry pie into his face. “Unless baseballs are falling from the sky now, yes, I’m pretty sure.”

He moaned as though I were a peasant interfering with his crucial work of polishing his automobile. “Look, Ms…”

“Angela. Our three years as neighbors have passed.”

His hand was waved off dismissively. “That’s correct. Angelina. Do you possess any evidence that this was Billy’s ball?

I was astounded as I looked at him. “Evidence? Pie filling is included on it.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing nod, “so you acknowledge that you altered the evidence?”

My eye twitched just a little bit. “Listen here, Baron Big—”

“I beg your pardon?”

I inhaled deeply. “Congrats, Mr. Worthington. My window was broken by your son. He might have caused my daughter great harm. At the very least, cover the cost of the repairs.”

He laughed, really laughed! “My dear, do you know how much that would cost?”

I murmured, “Probably less than one of your car’s tires.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I find your tone to be impolite. I have to get ready for a birthday celebration, so pardon me now. You know that important guests are on their way. Leave my land alone!”

That is what he said. Yes! I won’t apologize. Absolutely nothing.

Something broke inside of me as he turned away. “Oh, I get it completely. I recognize that your elaborate celebration takes precedence over your neighbors’ safety.”

Red in the face, he whirled around. “Now see here—”

However, I was in a zone. “No, look at this! For months now, your son has been terrorizing this neighborhood. All of us have been too gracious to speak up, but enough is enough. You must accept accountability!”

“I suggest you leave now before I call the police for trespassing.”

I was angry and defeated as I struggled back home, his pricey sprinkler system taunting me at every turn.

The remainder of the day was spent clearing glass and consoling a still-shaky Penny.

The noises of Baron Bigshot’s festivities wafted in as dusk approached. Glasses clinking, laughter, and what I thought was a live band.

I saw something strange as I got ready to draw the curtains—what was remained of them, anyway. A bunch of young men marching along Baron Bigshot’s immaculately mowed lawn were wearing football jerseys and masks.

“What in the world?” With my nose pressed up to the wooden window sill divider, I muttered.

All of a sudden, they raised their arms, footballs in each hand. And then they let loose, synchronized to perfection.

Like sports equipment hail, footballs showered down on Baron Bigshot’s birthday celebration. I gaped in shock as anarchy broke out.

Champagne flutes broke, guests shrieked and ducked, and Baron Bigshot himself stood in the center of it all, looking like a guy who had just witnessed the realization of his worst nightmare.

It ended just as suddenly as it had begun. The football players gave each other a high five before jogging off, causing havoc in their wake.

As I was attempting to comprehend what I had saw, there came a knock on my door. Mrs. Stewart was there, beaming like the lucky cat.

“Did you see that?” she inquired, hardly able to control her excitement.

Stunned, I still nodded. “What… how…”

She gave a wink. “To put it mildly, I owed my nephew’s football team a favor. We felt that our beloved neighbor would benefit from tasting his own medicine.”

It was unavoidable for me. I started laughing so hard that tears ran down my cheeks. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re a genius!”

She gave my arm a pat. “Sometimes, dear, karma needs a little push.”

I was sipping my coffee the following morning when my door was pounded in a furious manner. When I opened it, I saw Baron Bigshot in his crumpled pajamas, looking significantly less baronial.

He stammered, pointing an accusing finger at me and saying, “YOU!” “You did this!”

I had a cup of coffee and enjoyed the moment. “Did what?”

“Avoid acting foolish! The attack by the football team! It destroyed everything.

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Do you have any evidence that it was me, too?

Like a fish out of water, he opened and closed his mouth in response, obviously realizing that his own words were being returned.

I leaned against the doorframe, surprised at how at ease I felt. “Mr. Worthington, sometimes life has a humorous way of imparting knowledge to us. Perhaps you own this.”

An stunning hue of purple came over his face. “This isn’t over!”

I screamed after him as he stomped off, “Oh, and Mr. Worthington? You might want to think about making an investment in some wooden window boards. I’ve heard they’re very popular right now.”

I smiled to myself as I shut the door. Penny raised her head from her coloring book, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Mommy, why was that man yelling?”

I lifted her up and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Oh, my dear. He’s just picked up a valuable lesson about being a decent neighbor.”

Alright, people, that’s it. Karma operates in enigmatic ways, don’t you think? It moves quickly at times, slowly at others, and occasionally needs a gentle prod from a well-meaning neighbor who plays football for the high school team!

Tell me, have you ever had an evil neighbor? A personal Baron Bigshot? Tell us about yourself in the comments. I all, who doesn’t love company when they’re miserable? Nothing unites people like horror stories about scary neighbors!