The fence was gone.
Not fallen. Not damaged. Gone.
Every post pulled. Every panel removed. The property line was bare except for the holes in the ground where the concrete footings had been.
My fence—the one I’d built with my own hands, the one I’d spent weekends on, the one that had stood for eight years—was completely gone.
I stood there for a long time. Too long. Just staring at the empty space.
Then I walked to Ethan’s house. Knocked on the door.
He answered with a smile. Like nothing had happened.
“Hey, neighbor! How was your trip?”
“Where’s my fence?”
His smile didn’t waver. “Oh. Yeah. We took care of that while you were gone.”
“You took care of it?”
“Yeah. Had a crew come out. Removed it. We’re planning to landscape the whole boundary area. Really open things up.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “You removed my fence without permission.”
“Well—it was kind of an eyesore. And we talked about this before, remember? You said you built it, so I figured—”
“I said I built it. Not that you could tear it down.”
“Come on, man. It’s just a fence. We’re improving the space for everyone.”
I called the police.
An officer showed up. Middle-aged guy, looked tired.
“Sir, what’s the issue?”
“My neighbor removed my fence while I was out of town. Without permission.”
The officer looked at the empty boundary. At Ethan, who’d come outside.
“Mr. Carter, did you remove this fence?”
