After my divorce, I moved into a rundown apartment managed by a creepy landlord, Mr. Thompson. His strange obsession with plants became clear when he insisted I care for the dozens scattered throughout the place. I reluctantly agreed, but his constant calls to check on the plants quickly became overwhelming.

Soon, I noticed things in my apartment were out of place, and I suspected someone was entering without my permission. I set up a hidden camera and discovered Mr. Thompson was the intruder, obsessively checking on the plants and rifling through my belongings. Furious, I confronted him with the footage and threatened to report him to the police. He apologized and promised to stop.

Days later, karma struck. One of his new plants turned out to be poisonous, causing him severe skin irritation. I overheard that he was in great pain, but I felt a small sense of satisfaction knowing that he got what he deserved.

Shortly after, I found a better job and moved to a nicer apartment. The experience, though unsettling, taught me to stand up for myself. As I drove away, I reflected on how life’s twists and turns often balance out in the end.