On moving day, George glared at me like I’d stolen something from him. I just smiled and said, “No — I took back what was mine.”
Now, every time I park in space #18, I feel a quiet satisfaction. The spot isn’t just a place to leave my car anymore — it’s a reminder that peace doesn’t come from fighting loud battles, but from standing firm, collecting proof, and letting truth win the argument.
They wrapped my car in tape, hoping to make me look foolish. Instead, they ended up the ones stuck — tangled in their own arrogance.
