Hi, I’m Victoria, 57. A few weeks ago, I came home from a two-week work trip to find something horrifying: my bright yellow house — a color my late husband and I chose together — had been repainted a dull, depressing grayI was stunned. Furious. My home, the one filled with memories and sunshine, had been stripped of its soul.It didn’t take long to figure out who was behind it: my neighbors, the Davises,

who had complained endlessly about the color since they moved in. They thought it was “too loud,” “an eyesore,” and “bad for property value.” I’d always shrugged them off with a smile… but this time, they’d gone too far.Turns out, while I was away, they forged a work order, posed as homeowners, and hired painters to repaint my house. My neighbor Mr. Thompson saw it all, took photos, and tried to stop them— but the painters had “valid” documents. The police couldn’t intervene.I marched straight to the painting company. The manager was shocked when I proved the house was mine. The Davises had claimed ownership, declined proper prep work, and paid cash. The job was rushed, sloppy, and totally unauthorized.So I filed a lawsuit.In court, the painting crew testified against them.

My lawyer laid out everything — the forgery, the damage, the impersonation. The judge didn’t hold back: guilty of fraud and vandalism. Their punishment? Community service, full repainting costs, and court fees.As Mrs. Davis scowled outside the courthouse and muttered, “I hope you’re happy,” I looked her dead in the eye and said,“I will be — when it’s yellow again.”