Suzana, a single mother, saved throughout the year to provide her sons with a wonderful Christmas. But she transformed sadness into a memorable lesson in karma and a mother’s unwavering love when their nasty landlord stole their favorite Christmas tree, the center of their holiday.
Christmas is everything for me and my boys, Ethan and Jake. I saved up for months to buy the perfect tree this year, and seeing their excitement made it all worth it. But that joy didn’t last long.
“That tree has to go,” he barked. “It’s a fire hazard.”
“What? It’s perfectly safe,” I protested.
“The truck will pick it up in an hour,” he snapped, not giving me a chance to argue further.
While driving past Mr. Bryant’s house, I nearly slammed on the brakes. There, in his yard, was MY TREE, complete with my kids’ handmade ornaments. He’d added a tacky golden star and a sign that read, “Merry Christmas from the Bryants!”
My hands shook as I called Jessie, my best friend.
“He didn’t just steal a tree,” I choked out. “He stole my kids’ Christmas! Ethan’s snowflake, Jake’s rocket ship… they’re all there, Jess. He’s displaying my children’s memories like they’re his own!”
“That entitled piece of —” Jessie hissed. “Girl, I haven’t heard you this upset since Jonathan stole your lunch money in fifth grade.”
“At least Jonathan only took my money. This is different. Mr. Bryant… he STOLE our Christmas.”
“And what did we do to Jonathan?”
“Exactly. So what’s the plan? Because you do have a plan. I hear it in your voice.”
“Maybe. How do you feel about a little midnight adventure?”
At midnight, dressed in black hoodies and armed with more supplies than a craft store, we crept across Mr. Bryant’s perfectly manicured lawn.
“These gloves make me feel like a cat burglar,” Jessie whispered, carefully removing each ornament. “Though I doubt most burglars use unicorn print.”
“What a jerk.” Jessie frowned. “Hey, what’s that noise?”
We froze when a car passed, then burst into nervous giggles when it continued down the street.
“Remind me why we’re not just taking the tree and some of your boys’ ornaments?” Jessie asked, wrestling with a particularly stubborn ornament.
We worked methodically, replacing Mr. Bryant’s gaudy additions with something special. Foot-wide letters in silver duct tape wound around the tree, flaunting the message: “PROPERTY OF SUZANA, ETHAN & JAKE!”
“Wait!” Jessie pulled out a can of glitter spray. “Let’s make it festive. Red or silver?”
The following morning, I parked down the street with two cups of coffee and a clear view of Mr. Bryant’s house. At 8:15 a.m., his front door opened.
The string of curses that followed would have made a sailor blush.
“Someone vandalized my tree!” He gestured wildly at the glittering message. “This is destruction of private property!”
“What? No! This is my tree!”
“Then why does it say ‘Property of Suzana, Ethan & Jake’ in giant sparkling letters? Wait a minute. Did you steal their tree?”
“What’s outrageous is stealing a single mother’s Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.” Mrs. Adams’s voice could have frozen fire. “What would your mother, bless her soul, think, Mr. Bryant?”
By noon, photos of Mr. Bryant and the tree were circulating online. Someone had captioned: “When the Grinch Meets Karma” and “Why Stealing Someone’s Christmas is a BAD Idea!”
“Here’s your tree,” he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. Glitter dusted his expensive shoes.
“Thank you, Mr. Bryant. The boys will be so happy.”
He turned to leave but stopped. “The rent’s still due on the first.”
An hour later, another knock made us surprised. Mrs. Adams stood there with five other neighbors, their arms full of ornaments, cookies, and an incredibly stunning Christmas tree.
“For inside the house,” she explained, hugging me tight. “No child should cry on Christmas. And Mr. Bryant should know better. His own mother was a single mom, back in the day.”
“Mom!” Jake called out, carefully placing his rocket ship on a branch. “Look! Now we have two wonderful trees!”
“This really is the best Christmas ever!” Ethan added, his smile brighter than any tree light.
