My neighbor refused to pay me the agreed €200 after I spent two days cleaning her house, so I gave her a lesson she’ll never forget

They say neighbors can become your best allies… or your worst enemies. I never thought mine would be both at the same time. What had started as a simple favor turned into a brutal confrontation, followed by an unexpected revenge.

My name is Lila, I’m 48, with two children to care for, and a daily life far from what I had dreamed of. My husband, Caleb, left us six years ago, one evening claiming he needed “time to find himself.” In reality, he never came back. I had to raise Jude, now a teenager, and little Ivy, still full of innocence, on my own. My remote job at a call center pays the bills, but barely. Every penny counts.

It was in this context that Satie, my new neighbor in her thirties, knocked on my door. Her face looked exhausted, and she begged me:
— “Lila, I threw a big party last night and I have to leave urgently for work. My house is a disaster… Can you help me clean? I’ll pay you, €200.”

I hesitated. My time was precious, but that sum was essential to me. I agreed.

When I crossed the threshold of her house, I felt like I was entering a battlefield. Empty bottles, leftover food, piled-up dishes, sticky carpets… total chaos. Two full days, I scrubbed, swept, threw out bags, and washed tirelessly. My back ached, my hands were on fire. But I held on, thinking of Satie’s promise.

Once the work was done, I was exhausted but proud. Her house sparkled. I knocked on her door to collect what I was owed. Satie looked at me with a cold expression, as if she didn’t understand:

— “Payment? What are you talking about?”

I felt my heart freeze. “The €200. That was our agreement.”

She shrugged. “I never said that. You must be mistaken.” Then she drove off, leaving me standing there, humiliated.

Two days of work, wiped away as if nothing had happened. Anger surged through me. I refused to be exploited. So, I had an idea.

“Alright, Lila, think smart,” I whispered to myself. I looked at Satie’s house and began devising a plan. It was bold, but I didn’t care. If she wanted to play dirty, I could too… (For the rest, click on the first comment 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇)

I went to the local dump, filled my car with foul-smelling trash bags, then returned to her house. Satie had forgotten to take back the key she had left in a hurry. I opened her door, and inside her impeccable home, I emptied every bag: spoiled food, used diapers, miscellaneous trash. I closed the door behind me, slipped the key under her doormat, and went home, my heart pounding but strangely relieved.

That same evening, Satie banged violently on my door, furious:

— “What did you do to my house?!”

I stared at her, unfazed:

— “No idea. After all, you told me I never had a key… and that there was no agreement between us.”

She stayed silent, then turned on her heels, unable to respond.

I knew I had crossed a line, but for once, I had made myself respected. Satie understood one thing: you don’t trample on Lila without paying the price.