The next day, I took down the fence to avoid trouble, since I had no proof of the deal. My heart ached as I unscrewed the panels, stacked them by the garage, and yanked up the posts.

It was a bitter task, and the work was exhausting, but I wanted no legal drama. What happened next was beyond anything I could’ve imagined.

A week later, Patrice was back at my door, tears streaming down her face. “What did you do?!” she cried, her voice shaking.

Confused, I asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Please, put the fence back. When can you rebuild it? I’ll pay whatever you want—I need it back,” she pleaded.

“I thought you wanted it gone,” I replied.