The contractor finished in three days.
The fence was perfect. Solid. Permanent. Imposing.
Ethan came to my door the day after it was installed.
“That fence is ugly.”
“It’s legal. On my property line. You have no say in it.”
“It ruins the aesthetic of the neighborhood.”
“Should’ve thought about that before you tore down the last one.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re being petty.”
“I’m protecting my property. Something I shouldn’t have to do from my neighbor.”
Ethan tried to fight it. Filed a complaint with the county.
The county inspected. Found the fence was legal, properly permitted, and within all setback requirements.
Complaint dismissed.
He tried to organize the neighbors. Get them to pressure me to remove it.
Nobody cared. Most of them thought he was an idiot for tearing down the original fence.
He even tried to get an HOA started. To create rules against “industrial-style fencing.”
There was no HOA. Never had been. And nobody wanted one.
Six months after the steel fence went up, Ethan and Mara put their house on the market.
They’d lived there less than two years.
