When Mrs. Johnson didn’t pay my son for mowing her lawn, she assumed she could get away with it. What she didn’t foresee was how determined I was to teach her a lesson that the entire neighborhood would buzz about.

Mrs. Johnson was a new addition to our neighborhood, arriving just a few months back. She was the kind of person who always put forth a polished image. Every morning, she’d stride out, dressed in a crisp business suit, heels clicking purposefully as she headed off to work.

She wasn’t one for chitchat, often glued to her phone. While many in the neighborhood noticed her demeanor, she mostly kept to herself.

Despite her aloofness, I initially thought nothing of it. I figured she valued her privacy. But then came the day my son Ethan came home, drenched in sweat.

“Ethan, what happened?” I asked, noticing how exhausted he looked as he dropped onto the couch.

“Mrs. Johnson had me mow her lawn,” Ethan explained, out of breath. “She promised me twenty bucks for the job.”

Looking out, I saw that Mrs. Johnson’s lawn was indeed vast, the largest in our neighborhood. Ethan had groomed it to perfection, every line straight and neat.

“It took two days,” Ethan continued, wiping his brow. “She said she’d pay up once the job was complete.”

I felt a surge of pride for my son. Ethan was a good-hearted boy, always looking for ways to lend a hand. He’d been diligently saving up to gift his grandma a lovely food processor for her birthday.

“So, has she paid you yet?” I asked, still peering out the window.

“Not yet, but I’m sure she will,” Ethan said with a touch of hope in his voice.

Initially, I gave Mrs. Johnson the benefit of the doubt, thinking she’d surely give him the twenty dollars. But as days passed, Ethan’s demeanor shifted; he wasn’t as bubbly as he typically was.

“What’s troubling you, sweetie?” I inquired one evening, observing him wistfully watching Mrs. Johnson’s house through the window.

“She hasn’t paid me yet,” he mumbled.

“Have you tried asking her again?”

Ethan nodded, “I tried both yesterday and today. Yesterday, she said she was busy and told me to return later. When I asked again today, she just told me to get lost.”

I was taken aback, my thoughts quickly turning to disbelief and anger. “What do you mean, ‘get lost’?”

Ethan’s voice trembled slightly. “She said the real payment was the lesson of hard work. She insisted I didn’t need the money.”

Incensed, yet striving to remain composed for Ethan’s sake, I assured him, “I will handle it, honey. You focus on other things.”

Inside, I was fuming. But more importantly, I was already concocting a plan.

The next morning, I watched Mrs. Johnson leave for work, polished and put together as ever. I knew it was time to act.

Justice was called for, and if Mrs. Johnson was not going to do the right thing, then I’d ensure she learned something new. I started making calls.

Within an hour, a good friend from high school, Mark, who owned a landscaping business, was clued into the situation.

“You want me to. . . trim her hedges into amusing shapes?” he laughed over the line.

Her hedges were the pride of her yard, pristine and fashionable, shaped perfectly every Saturday. Surely giving them some character would catch her attention?

“Precisely. Nothing harmful. Just enough for her to take notice.”

After a contemplative pause, Mark agreed, “Consider it done. I’ll swing by later today.”

Part one was rolling. For part two, I called a local mulch delivery service, channeling my best Mrs. Johnson-inspired authoritativeness.

“Hello, this is Katherine Johnson. Could you deliver three large truckloads of mulch to my address? Yes, the entire driveway, thank you.”

Hanging up, my heart raced with anticipation. But yes, I was committed to seeing this through.

Soon, three massive trucks appeared, burying Mrs. Johnson’s driveway in mulch. I watched from my porch, keenly aware our neighborhood was abuzz with gossip.

When Mrs. Johnson returned home later, her reaction was worth the wait. Her car screeched to a halt in front of the mulch mound, a perfect show for our gathering neighborhood.

Her expression shifting from confusion to anger, she assessed the strange new shapes of her once immaculate hedges, then stormed over to me with fiery purpose.

“Did you orchestrate this?” she demanded, her tone sharp and infuriated.

Feigning innocence, I replied, “Who, me? I haven’t a clue about landscaping or mulch deliveries.”

Boiling over, she accused, “You think this is amusing?”

I met her furious gaze steadily, “Not as amusing as you reneging on a promise to a 12-year-old.”

She realized she couldn’t retaliate against me without looking worse in front of our neighbors. Her next move? Stomping back to her house, only to return with a crumpled twenty-dollar note.

She offered it to me, but I deflected, “Give it to Ethan.”

She hesitated, but finally approached Ethan and handed him the bill.

“Uh, thanks,” he stammered, surprised.

Having taught Mrs. Johnson a needed lesson, I was satisfied.

With a knowing smile, Ethan thanked me, grateful and beaming. “Don’t thank me,” I grinned, “you earned it, kiddo.”

This incident lingered in our neighborhood’s memory long after the hedges regrew and the mulch was cleared. It was a vivid reminder of integrity, proving that trying to shortchange a hardworking kid can bring unexpected lessons.

It goes to show that even those who seem the most collected sometimes need a reminder that a mother fiercely protecting her son is not to be trifled with.