When my father-in-law Richard moved in after my mother-in-law passed, I did my best to stay patient. He was stubborn

and always insisted he knew better. My backyard garden—my pride and therapy—was my sanctuary, filled with flowers I’d tended for years.

But Richard saw it as “wasted space.” He kept suggesting we replace it with a swimming pool. At first, I laughed it off, but his persistence wore on me. My

husband Tom defended me, reminding Richard how much love I’d poured into the garden and how impractical a pool would be. Still, Richard wouldn’t let it go.

One weekend, Tom and I were away. When we returned, I was devastated. My garden was gone—ripped out,

replaced by a giant hole. Richard stood there, proud of his “surprise.” I cried. Tom lost it.

Then karma stepped in. Our rule-enforcing neighbor Mrs. Jensen noticed and called the city. An inspector arrived, fined Richard, and halted the work.

Worse, the workers hit an old water pipe, flooding the yard. Richard slipped in the mud, face-first, ruining his suit and his pride.

He paid for the fines, repairs, and restoring the yard. I replanted every flower. Now, each bloom is a quiet victory—and “pool” is a word Richard avoids.