Caitlin often found herself informally supervising her neighbor Stacy’s young son, Nate, providing him some stability while his mom sought time for herself. However, when Nate decorated the hallway walls with doodles during Caitlin’s absence, she was unjustly slapped with a $500 fine. Determined to set things right, Caitlin devised a plan for retribution.
Stacy had become accustomed to letting her young son, Nate, roam the hallway as a play area.
“It’s safe, Caitlin,” she’d assure me. “Plus, it’s their version of outdoor play.”
She would then retreat behind her door, leaving Nate to his devices, often while she entertained guests.
“I just need some downtime,” she confessed to me once in the laundry room. “I’m a grown woman with needs, you know. Being a single mom, you must get it.”
I understood her need for personal space, but I could never imagine letting my own son, Jackson, wander the hallways alone. Despite our general familiarity with the neighbors, the corridors didn’t feel completely secure.
Jackson, slightly older than Nate, seemed concerned about the younger boy, who often loitered alone, clutching his tattered teddy bear.
“Mom,” Jackson would say during his playtime, “maybe we should invite him over.”
Grateful for my son’s compassion, I agreed. It was better to keep both children within sight, ensuring their safety.
Thus, we began having Nate over for snacks, toys, and movies—a simple arrangement that brought him noticeable joy.
“He mentioned he likes playing with others,” Jackson noted one day. “I don’t think his mom spends much time with him.”
And interestingly, Stacy hardly acknowledged this setup. Once she realized Nate was safe with us, she seemed to extend her leisure time even more.
Eventually, it became routine for Nate to knock on our door whenever his mother let him out.
“Hello,” he’d say, teddy in hand. “I’m here to play.”
However, one day, we were away at my parents’ house for my mom’s birthday.
“I hope Nate will be okay,” Jackson expressed concern as we drove.
“Oh, honey,” I responded. “His mom is there. She’s responsible for his safety too.”
Upon our return, we were greeted by hallway walls covered in childish drawings—a colorful chaos of stick figures and squiggles.
“Nate must have had fun,” I remarked, searching for my keys.
“Isn’t he going to be in trouble?” Jackson asked, eyeing the artwork.
“He might be,” I said as we entered our home, “but his mom should handle this before it’s noticed by others.”
I was wrong.
Weeks passed, and the drawings remained. I assumed building management would address it with Stacy or clean it up themselves.
“Should we clean it?” Jackson once asked, peering under the sink at our cleaning supplies.
“No, honey,” I replied. “It’s something Nate and his mom need to sort out.”
Imagine my shock when a $500 fine for the drawings was attached to my door!
“What the actual hell is this?” I muttered.
The notice accused Jackson of the vandalism.
“Vandalism? But it’s just a child’s imagination!” I exclaimed.
After everything we did for Stacy, this was her repayment? Furious, I confronted her, hoping it was a misunderstanding.
“Well, Caitlin, you were supposed to watch him while he was in the hallway. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” Stacy’s response was shocking.
“The nerve!” I thought. “You just wanted someone to babysit because you were too busy.”
But I refused to let this go. I hatched a plan.
I cleaned the walls quietly one night.
The next day, I let Nate in as usual. “Go have fun, be an artist again!” I encouraged him.
His eyes lit up, not realizing the setup.
“Mom, really?” Jackson chuckled.
“Yes, I need to show Stacy how to actually parent. You do your homework, and later we’ll make pizza and watch a movie, okay?”
“Deal!” he agreed, scampering off.
As planned, Nate redecorated the hallway. I filmed everything, capturing his solo art session.
After he finished, we enjoyed our pizza.
The next day, I showed the building manager the new video, feigning dismay.
“Can you believe this, Thomas? It’s even worse this time,” I said, showing him the footage.
He was appalled. “This is unacceptable,” he muttered, promising immediate action.
The management later confronted Stacy with the evidence, transferring the fine to her and issuing a stern warning about supervising her child.
I didn’t stop there. In the laundry room, I shared the story, ensuring all neighbors knew of Stacy’s negligence.
“Did you hear about Stacy? She tried to shift blame for her kid’s mess,” neighbors gossiped.
“I know, right! Some people just don’t care,” another added.
Hearing their disdain was a small victory. Stacy’s reputation suffered, and she began to watch Nate more closely, no longer letting him roam unsupervised.
One day, I encountered a tired, remorseful Stacy in the hallway.
“I didn’t realize… I mean, I should have…” she started to apologize.
“Just watch Nate closely. He’s a great kid,” I interrupted, not interested in excuses.
She nodded, managing a weak smile.
What would you have done in my place?
