A Landlord Took My Christmas Tree — Here’s What Happened Next

My Landlord Stole My Beautiful Christmas Tree and My Payback Was Harsh

Suzana, a single mother, diligently saved throughout the year to ensure that her sons had a magical Christmas. However, the heartbreak she experienced was transformed into an unforgettable lesson in karma and a mother’s unwavering love when their evil landlord stole the heart of their holiday, their cherished Christmas tree.

I am a single mother of two exceptional young sons, Jake and Ethan. In our household, Christmas is not merely a festival. It encompasses all. While other families organize their summer vacations, I save a portion of my paycheck to purchase the ideal Christmas tree. After months of saving, we were eventually able to purchase our dream tree this year: a seven-foot masterpiece adorned with exquisite handmade ornaments and twinkling lights.

“Mom! Mom! I am proud to present the artwork I created during my art class. Ethan, an eight-year-old boy, swung his backpack recklessly as he burst through the door, waving a paper snowflake. He had meticulously adhered a photograph of the three of us from the picnic we attended last summer to the center of the object.

“That’s gorgeous, honey!” I bent down to inspect his work. “Want to hang it on the special branch?”

“Can I put it next to my rocket ship?” Jake, a six-year-old, jumped over and pointed to his own creation: a waste paper roll that had been painted silver and adorned with cardboard fins.

“How about right between your rocket and my angel?” I proposed, reaching for the step ladder.

“Best spot ever!” Ethan meticulously positioned his snowflake. “This tree is like a giant memory book, isn’t it, Mom?”

Baby, it certainly is. Each ornament recounts our narrative.

“And it’s the prettiest tree on the whole street!” Jake declared as he danced around its base. “Even prettier than the one at the mall!”

“Can we add more lights to the top?” Ethan inquired, his eyes gleaming. “It needs to shine so Santa can see it from the North Pole!”

“Certainly, honey. Let us transform it into the most luminous tree in the neighborhood.

However, that happiness persisted for precisely 21 hours and 16 minutes. A sudden knock disrupted “Jingle Bell Rock” at 5:07 p.m. on Christmas Eve.

Mr. Bryant, our proprietor, was present, holding a most recent-model phone in one hand and a designer coffee in the other. His cashmere scarf likely cost more than my monthly grocery allotment.

“Suzana!” He scarcely lifted his eyes from his screen. “About the rent.”

I erect my shoulders. “Mr. Bryant, it is not due for another week.” The same as each month. Is there still time?

“Just making sure you’re… AWARE!” His gaze then shifted to our tree, and a chilling sensation swept across his visage. “What exactly is THAT THING doing in the yard?”

“What is the name of our Christmas tree?” It was the last item to be set up.

“It needs to go.” He took a long drink of his coffee, grimacing as if he had tasted something bitter. “Fire hazard.”

“Is there a risk of fire?” Mr. Bryant, it is outdoors. We have examined all of the lighting, and….

“I’m sending a truck in an hour.” He turned to depart, but he paused. “Oh, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday.” Attempt to mitigate the volume of the festivities.

I remained motionless as his vehicle accelerated away. The boys were occupied with the task of decorating sugar cookies, completely unaware that our Christmas was about to be devastated.

And then, the lorry arrived.

“But Mom, you promised until New Year’s!” The truck workers began to disconnect the lights from the tree, causing Ethan’s voice to waver. “Tell them to stop!”

Jake’s cheekbones were dusted with flour, and he embraced my leg, shedding tears. “What is the reason for the mean man stealing our Christmas tree?” Mother, kindly instruct him to cease. Were we sinful? I… I assure you that I will conduct myself appropriately. Kindly instruct him to cease.

I embraced them both, attempting to suppress my emotions. “No, my dear, you were not at all unkind.” Occasionally, adults make decisions that are illogical.

“But all our ornaments!” Ethan withdrew, his miniature fists clinched. “My precious snowflake!” Jake’s projectile! What is the reason for their acquisition of everything?

“Our tree was the prettiest tree on the block,” Jake exclaimed. “It’s not Christmas without a tree.”

While we stood there, helpless, we observed as the men loaded our stunning tree onto the vehicle, complete with ornaments. My heart was pierced by the quiet sobbing of my sons. Our Christmas delight was snatched by the truck as it departed.

I sat in our empty living room that evening, gazing out at the rectangular patch of dead grass outside where our tree had once stood, after tucking two heartbroken sons into bed. The silence was oppressive, but the boys’ room’s muted sniffles provided the only relief.

Ethan’s voice was swollen with tears as he murmured, “I despise Mr. Bryant,” from the hallway. “He stole our Christmas.”

Jake gently concurred, “I concur.” “Without our tree, Santa Claus will be unable to locate us.” Mr. Bryant is entirely responsible. He is a malevolent individual. I hope that the cookie demon abducts him.

The following morning, I dropped the boys off at their grandmother’s residence for our customary Christmas breakfast. I nearly lost control of my vehicle when I passed Mr. Bryant’s residence at the end of the street while attempting to clear my mind by taking the lengthy route home.

I was frozen for a brief period by the sight that was before me.

It was located there. Our tree. Our cherished Christmas tree. In the yard of Mr. Bryant. Ethan had insisted on positioning the crooked star himself, as well as every handmade ornament and meticulous decoration.

However, it now bore an enormous golden star and a sign that caused my blood to boil: “MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE BRYANTS!”

I called Jessie, my closest friend since we shared crayons in third grade, and my palms trembled.

“He did not merely steal a tree,” I sputtered out. “He stole my children’s Christmas!” Jess, they are all present: Jake’s rocket ship, Ethan’s snowflake. He is proudly showcasing the memories of my children as if they were his own.

“That entitled piece of —” Jessie whispered. “Girl, I haven’t heard you this upset since Jonathan stole your lunch money in fifth grade.”

“At least Jonathan did not steal my money.” This is distinct. Mr. Bryant… he stole our Christmas.”

“And what did we do to Jonathan?”

“We filled his locker with shaving cream and glitter.” The memory brought a smile to my face. “It took him weeks to get it all out of his jacket.”

“Indeed. Therefore, what is the strategy? Because you possess a strategy. Your voice conveys it to me.

“Possibly.” What are your thoughts on a brief nocturnal expedition?

“I have been anticipating the opportunity to don my black yoga pants for crime for the past year, my dear.” At what hour should I arrive?

At midnight, we crept across Mr. Bryant’s meticulously maintained lawn, clad in black hoodies and equipped with an abundance of supplies that would rival a craft store.

Jessie murmured, “These gloves make me feel like a cat burglar,” as she meticulously removed each ornament. “Though I doubt most burglars use unicorn print.”

“More like Santa’s revenge squad!” I gathered the handmade decorations my sons had made in a bag, and my heart ached as I recognized each one. “Look, he even kept the candy cane Jake made from pipe cleaners.”

“What a jerk.” Jessie expressed her dissatisfaction. “Hey, what’s that noise?”

We were frozen as a car passed, and we erupted into nervous giggles as it continued down the street.

“Remind me why we’re not just taking the tree and some of your boys’ ornaments?” Jessie inquired, grappling with an ornament that was exceedingly obstinate.

“Because then we would be thieves, just like him.” We are planning to implement an improved approach.

We proceeded with precision, substituting Mr. Bryant’s extravagant embellishments with something unique. Silver duct tape letters, each measuring one foot in width, were wrapped around the tree, displaying the message “PROPERTY OF SUZANA, ETHAN & JAKE!”

“Wait!” A can of glitter spray was extracted by Jessie. “Let us make it a festive occasion.” “Silver or red?”

“Both.” It is, after all, Christmas.”

The following morning, I parked down the street with a clear view of Mr. Bryant’s residence and two cups of coffee. His front door was unlocked at 8:15 a.m.

The sequence of obscenities that ensued would have caused a sailor to blush.

“Everything okay, Mr. Bryant?” While strolling her poodle, Mrs. Adams, his neighbor, yelled. She had resided there for three decades and had never tolerated any nonsense from anyone, particularly Mr. Bryant.

“Someone vandalized my tree!” He frantically gesticulated in response to the glistening message. “This is destruction of private property!”

Mrs. Adams adjusted her spectacles, squinting in order to observe the tree. “Is that an ornament of a rocket ship that belongs to little Jake?” Additionally, what about Ethan’s paper snowflake?

“What?” No! “This is my tree!”

“Then why does it display the phrase ‘Property of Suzana, Ethan & Jake’ in colossal, sparkling letters?” Please wait for a moment. Did you remove their tree?

: Midway through the voyage

“I… I… this is outrageous!” It posed a fire hazard. I have recently relocated it to this location.

“What’s outrageous is stealing a single mother’s Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.” Mrs. Adams’s voice could have halted the flow of fire. “What would your mother, bless her soul, think, Mr. Bryant?”

Photos of Mr. Bryant and the tree were being shared online by noon. “When the Grinch Meets Karma” and “Why Stealing Someone’s Christmas is a BAD Idea!” were captioned by an individual.

At sunset, the doorbell sounded. Mr. Bryant stood there, his visage the color of a ripe tomato, as our tree dragged behind him.

He murmured, “Here’s your tree,” but he refused to look at me. His costly shoes were coated in glitter.

“I am grateful, Mr. Bryant.” The lads will be exceedingly pleased.

He turned to depart, but he halted. “The rent’s still due on the first.”

“Certainly.” Additionally, Mr. Bryant? Consider hosing down your property. I have heard that glitter can persist until spring.

We were taken aback by an additional knock an hour later. Mrs. Adams and five other neighbors stood there, their arms laden with ornaments, cookies, and an awe-inspiring Christmas tree.

She explained, embracing me tightly, “For the interior of the house.” “Christmas should not be a time for crying for any child.” Additionally, Mr. Bryant ought to be more knowledgeable. In the past, his mother was a single mother.

While Ethan and Jake bounced around, the neighbors assisted us in erecting both trees. They shared stories and cookies, and their earlier sorrow was forgotten as they hung new ornaments alongside their rescued treasures.

“Mom!” Jake yelled as he meticulously positioned his rocket ship on a branch. “Observe!” We now possess two exceptional plants.

“This really is the best Christmas ever!” Additionally, Ethan’s smile was as radiant as any tree’s illumination.

Suddenly, our home was replete with holiday cheer, laughter, and affection. What about Mr. Bryant? Since then, he has not caused us any inconvenience. Karma is truly the gift that never ceases to be given.