I got a call late at night. It was my daughter, Lily, crying. “Dad,” she sobbed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, alarmed. Lily explained her landlord had overheard her celebrating a raise at work and now wanted to raise her rent, claiming he needed to do renovations. She continued, “He secretly threw old, prohibited chemical containers into my backyard and then accused me of violating the lease.” The landlord had given her two days to move out.

Furious, I told her, “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll sort this out together.” The next evening, I arrived at Lily’s with friends. We dismantled the beautiful garden Lily had created, reducing it to a barren patch of dirt.

Inside, we rearranged the furniture to highlight all the faults. The cracks in the walls, missing tiles, and mold in the bathroom were now visible. We replaced all light bulbs with bright, uninviting ones. “I did everything right, and he still found a way to ruin it all,” Lily sighed. “This is just a setback,” I assured her.

The next morning, Lily’s landlord, Jack, arrived, furious about the missing garden. “What the hell, Lily? Where are the plants?” he demanded. Lily innocently replied, “The backyard has always looked like this.” I pointed out the exposed faults. “You want to talk about damage?” I said coldly, showing him photos from when Lily moved in. Potential tenants saw the house in its raw state and left without applying.

A few months later, Lily found a new place with a landlord who appreciated her green thumb. As we sat on her new porch, she said, “I can’t thank you enough, Dad.” I smiled, “You did the hard part. You stood up to him. Now, you’ve got a fresh start.”