It was an unusually hot Tuesday morning in the suburbs. The kind of heat that made the pavement shimmer and tempers flare. I was sipping my iced coffee, staring at the new wall I had just finished building around my pool. It wasn’t fancy, but it gave me peace. That peace didn’t last long.
My neighbor, Linda, came stomping over, red-faced and in flip-flops. “You need to tear that down,” she barked. I blinked. “Excuse me?” She jabbed a finger toward the wall. “That pool was always open. The old owner let my family use it whenever we wanted.” I took a deep breath. “It’s for your safety,” I explained, trying to stay calm. “There’s no lifeguard. Liability, you know?”
Linda didn’t like that. Her face twisted with rage. “The old owner let us swim whenever we wanted! You’re going to regret this!” She stormed off, muttering under her breath. I figured that was the end of it. I was wrong. The next morning, I heard loud thuds outside. I looked out the window—and froze.