“Payment? What payment?” she asked. My heart sank as she claimed there was no agreement. She dismissed me, saying she didn’t have time for this, and left for work. I stood there, dumbfounded and furious. I spent the rest of the day stewing over her betrayal. I had worked hard, and she had the nerve to pretend we never made a deal. I wasn’t about to let her get away with it. I needed to be smart about my next move. As I paced my living room, an idea started to form—a risky idea, but one I felt was necessary. Later that day, I found myself at the local garbage dump, loading my car with bags of trash. Desperate times called for desperate measures. On the drive back, I kept replaying our conversation in my head, justifying my plan with every mile. When I reached her house, the street was quiet. I hauled the garbage bags to her front door, heart pounding. As I worked quickly, I realized something: Emery had forgotten to take back her house key from me.I hesitated briefly but remembered how she dismissed me. I unlocked her door, stepped inside, and methodically tore open the garbage bags, dumping the contents all over her pristine home. Rotten food, old newspapers, dirty diapers—everything mixed in a disgusting heap. I left her house in shambles, feeling both satisfaction and guilt. That evening, as I put Connie to bed, I heard furious banging on my front door. I knew it was Emery before I even opened it. She screamed at me, demanding to know what I had done to her house. I calmly denied everything, reminding her that, according to her, I never had the key. She threatened to call the police, but I knew she had no proof. Defeated, she stormed off. As I closed the door, a strange mix of relief and regret washed over me. I knew I had crossed a line, but in that moment, it felt justified. Sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself, even if it means getting your hands dirty. I doubted Emery would ask me for any more favors after this.