The next morning, after another dismissive glance from Ethan, something changed in me. I had had enough of his condescension. The humiliation was no longer acceptable.

I woke up early, long before he arrived to park his car in my spot. When he turned the corner in his black Porsche, he found a scene he never could have anticipated.

I had armed myself with my own “hammer”, a metal bar I found in my garage. Just as he had played with my patience, I played with his car. In two quick moves, I smashed the windshield of his Porsche.

The effect was instantaneous. Ethan slowed down and stopped, his gaze frozen on his car. In less time than it took to turn the key, he was already out of the car, shouting and accusing me of vandalism.

He started insulting me, but his mother, Karen, appeared on the scene, followed by his older brother. The angry scene attracted the attention of the neighbors, and voices began to rise.

“What are you doing?!” Karen screamed, overwhelmed with rage.

“He finally learned his lesson,” I replied calmly. “Maybe now he’ll understand what it feels like to be ignored and despised.”

The silence was heavy. Ethan stood there, dumbfounded, realizing that he had underestimated my need for respect. What I had done wasn’t just an act of rebellion; it was a way of reclaiming my dignity.

The lesson had been given. But the price might be higher than I had imagined.