Suzana, a dedicated single mother, spent the whole year saving up so she could give her sons the perfect Christmas. Unfortunately, their cruel landlord managed to turn their holiday joy into heartache by snatching their prized Christmas tree. But what followed turned into a heartfelt lesson on karma and the unyielding love of a mother.

For me and my boys, Ethan and Jake, Christmas is everything. This year, I painstakingly saved enough to buy the most splendid tree, watching their faces light up was priceless. Yet, this joy was short-lived.

On the eve of Christmas, our landlord, Mr. Bryant, paid us an unexpected visit. He mentioned the rent, which was not even overdue, while his gaze lingered on our beautiful tree.

“That tree needs to go,” he growled. “It’s a fire hazard.”

I was taken aback. “What? It’s perfectly safe,” I countered.

He dismissed my words with, “The truck will collect it within the hour,” and ignored my protests.

Just like that, our cherished Christmas tree was carted away, leaving my children in tears that night. As a mother, feeling helpless was tough… until Christmas morning arrived.

While passing Mr. Bryant’s house, I was startled to a stop. There, proudly displayed in his yard, was OUR TREE adorned with my sons’ homemade decorations. He had topped it with a gaudy star and a sign proclaiming, “Merry Christmas from the Bryants!”

Overcome with emotion, I reached out to Jessie, my best friend.

“He didn’t just swipe a tree,” I choked out. “He took away my kids’ Christmas! Ethan’s snowflake and Jake’s rocket ship… they’re all there, as if they’re his!”

“What a jerk!” Jessie spat. “I haven’t seen you this mad since Jonathan snatched your lunch money in grade school.”

“Oh, this is way beyond that. Jonathan only took money. Mr. Bryant… he STOLE our Christmas.”

“And what did we do to Jonathan?”

“We stuffed his locker with shaving cream and glitter,” I reminisced with a smile. “It took him ages to clean it off.”

“Exactly. What’s the plan? Because I know you’ve got one.”

“Maybe. Up for some late-night mischief?”

“Girl, my black yoga pants have been waiting all year for this. What time do I meet you?”

Right at midnight, clad in black hoodies and carrying enough supplies to rival a craft store, we stealthily crossed Mr. Bryant’s meticulously kept lawn.

Jessie whispered, “These gloves make me feel like a cat burglar,” as she carefully detached each ornament, which incidentally featured a unicorn print.

Lying low was crucial. “More like Santa’s avenging elves!” I chimed, tucking my sons’ sentimental decorations away, feeling the warmth of each crafted memory. “Even Jake’s pipe cleaner candy cane is here.”

“What a nerve!” Jessie frowned, pausing when we heard a distant car. Once it cruised by, we fell into fits of giggles.

Jessie was curious, “Why not just take back your tree and some ornaments?”

“We’d be sinking to Mr. Bryant’s level. We have a more creative approach in mind,” I teased.

“Hold on!” Jessie grabbed glitter spray, laughing. “Let’s make it festive. How about red or silver?”

“Why not both? After all, it’s Christmas!”

The next morning, I parked discreetly down the road with two coffees, keeping a keen eye on Mr. Bryant’s residence. At precisely 8:15 a.m., his door swung open.

The string of colorful expletives flowing from him could embarrass even the most seasoned sailors.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Bryant?” hollered his neighbor, Mrs. Adams, who was out walking her poodle. She’s famously unyielding and a 30-year resident, never tolerating nonsense, especially from Mr. Bryant.

“My tree was vandalized!” he accused, his gestures wild towards the glittery message.

Mrs. Adams adjusted her spectacles, peering at the tree. “Aren’t those Jake’s rocket and Ethan’s snowflake?” she inquired.

Mr. Bryant sputtered, “No, it’s mine! It was a hazard; I moved it here.”

Mrs. Adams, her voice like ice, declared, “What’s outrageous is what you did to a single mom’s property on Christmas Eve. What would your mother think?”

By noon, images of Mr. Bryant’s antics were everywhere online, captions like “When the Grinch Meets Karma” and “Why You Shouldn’t Mess with Christmas!”

At sunset, the doorbell rang. There stood Mr. Bryant, dragging our tree, his face flushed.

“Here’s your tree,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze, glitter clinging to his pricey shoes.

“Thank you, Mr. Bryant. The boys will be thrilled.”

As he retreated, he growled, “Rent’s due on the first.”

“Certainly. And Mr. Bryant, you might want to rinse your lawn. They say glitter lasts through spring.”

Shortly after, another knock brought a surprise. Mrs. Adams and five neighbors arrived, laden with ornaments, cookies, and a gorgeous tree.

“For inside,” she explained, hugging me tightly. “No kid should be sad on Christmas. Mr. Bryant should have known better; his mom was a single parent herself once.”

The community came together, decorating with us as Ethan and Jake buzzed with excitement, newly adding to their previously lost treasures.

“Mom!” Jake beamed, hanging up his rocket. “We have not one but two amazing trees!”

“This is the best Christmas ever!” Ethan agreed, his smile outshining the tree lights.

Our home was filled with warmth, joy, and holiday spirit. As for Mr. Bryant? He’s kept his distance ever since. Indeed, karma is the kind of gift that doesn’t stop giving.