The fence did not make my land his—it only trapped my property inside his perfect backyard.
“Take one step past that fence and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Tyler Bennett said it from his new backyard with one hand resting on the top rail of the fence he had built eight feet inside my property.
I looked at him.
Then at the orange survey flag sticking out of the grass three feet from his shoe.
“That’s my land.”
He smiled.
“Not anymore.”
I wish I could say I laughed.
I didn’t.
Because by then, I understood Tyler wasn’t confused.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
My name is Jason Miller. I’m forty-three, a commercial electrician, and I had lived in my little brick house outside Raleigh, North Carolina, for eleven years.
I bought it after my divorce because it had two things I could afford to love without
