And then there was Brad, her next-door neighbor. Brad was the self-proclaimed king of Halloween. Every year, his elaborate Halloween display turned his house into an attraction, complete with gravestones, skeleton dioramas, and giant jack-o’-lanterns. He relished the compliments from the neighbors, his smug grin becoming more insufferable with each one. But for Genevieve, none of that mattered. She was too busy trying to stay awake to care about Brad’s haunted circus.

One typical October morning, Genevieve stepped outside with Lily on her hip and Lucas cradled in her arm, barely coherent from exhaustion. Her eyes widened in shock—her car was completely covered in eggs. Shell fragments were scattered across the hood, and the egg yolk was slowly dripping down the windshield. It wasn’t just a prank. It was too specific, especially since her car was parked in front of Brad’s house the night before.

Angry and running on fumes, Genevieve decided to confront Brad. She marched over to his house, her rage bubbling to the surface as she banged on his door. Brad opened it, wearing his trademark smug expression. His house, decked out in full Halloween mode, was an eyesore, with fake cobwebs, skeletons, and witches arranged in meticulous chaos.

“Did you see who egged my car?” she demanded.

Brad didn’t even blink. “I did,” he said casually. “Your car was blocking the view of my decorations.”

Genevieve was stunned. “You egged my car because it was in front of your house? You didn’t even ask me to move it!”

Brad shrugged. “People come from all over to see my display. How can they see it if your car is blocking the view?”

He crossed his arms, completely unfazed. “I’m the Halloween King. This display is a big deal, and I’m just asking for a little cooperation.”

Genevieve’s rage simmered beneath the surface. “I’ve got newborn twins, Brad. I parked there because it’s easier for me when I’m carrying two babies.”

Brad shrugged again. “That’s not my problem, Genevieve. After Halloween, you can park there again.”

Genevieve stood speechless, her exhaustion dulling the sharpness of her anger. Instead of yelling, she turned and walked away. But as she cleaned her egg-covered car later that day, a thought crossed her mind—this wasn’t over. If Brad wanted to play dirty, she was ready to play smarter.

That night, rocking Lily to sleep in the nursery, an idea formed. Brad’s weakness was his pride—his haunted house display. He needed his elaborate decorations to be perfect. Genevieve didn’t have the energy for a direct confrontation, but subtle revenge? That she could do.

The next day, Genevieve walked over to Brad’s yard as he was putting the final touches on his decorations. “Hey, Brad,” she called out cheerfully. “I’ve been thinking—your setup looks great, but have you ever considered adding some high-tech stuff to really make it pop? Like fog machines and ghost projectors?”

Brad paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “Upgrade?” he asked.

Genevieve nodded, rattling off the names of a few brands she had researched. All of them were cheap machines known for their terrible performance, but Brad didn’t need to know that. “If you want to be the best on the block, these could take it to the next level,” she said.

Brad’s eyes lit up. He loved any opportunity to outdo the neighborhood.

Halloween night arrived, and Brad’s house looked spectacular. He’d gone all out, installing fog machines and ghost projectors, creating an atmosphere that had parents and kids gathering in awe on the sidewalk. Brad stood proudly amidst the admiration, enjoying the spotlight.

Genevieve watched from her porch, holding her twins, feeling like the villain in a low-budget drama. She had to admit, it did look impressive—for a while. Then, just as she predicted, things began to fall apart.

Right on cue, the fog machine sputtered, turning into a malfunctioning sprinkler and spraying water across Brad’s lawn. Kids giggled, and the adults tried to stifle their laughter as Brad raced over, desperately fiddling with buttons to no avail.

Next, the ghost projector started to flicker, the supposed eerie ghost turning into a jittery, cartoonish blob that wavered across the wall. The children erupted into laughter, and Brad’s frustration was palpable as he tried to fix the situation.

But the final blow was the giant inflatable Frankenstein, collapsing in slow motion, its massive head rolling across the yard like a beach ball. Some teenagers, sensing an opportunity for mischief, started pelting eggs at Brad’s house. The haunted house had turned into an unintended comedy, and there was no saving it.

The next morning, there was a knock at Genevieve’s door. She opened it to find Brad, looking deflated, much like his giant inflatable. He seemed uncomfortable, his arrogance nowhere to be found.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “For egging your car. I overreacted.”

Genevieve crossed her arms, taking her time before responding. “Yeah, you did.”

Brad shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I didn’t realize how hard it must be with the twins and all. I’m sorry.”

Genevieve let the silence linger, watching him squirm. “Thanks for apologizing, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Brad nodded, eager to leave the awkwardness behind. “No, it won’t.”

As he turned to leave, Genevieve couldn’t resist adding, “Funny how things have a way of balancing out, huh?”

Brad glanced back, but for once, he had nothing to say.