I returned from my beach vacation feeling refreshed, my suitcase full of seashells and my mind finally at peace after a messy breakup. The calm lasted exactly until I walked into my backyard. There, in the center of my perfectly manicured lawn, gaped a rectangular hole about six feet long – the kind meant for coffins, not gardening projects.
My hands shook as I circled the excavation. A shovel lay discarded nearby, and boot prints marked the disturbed earth. This wasn’t vandalism – it was a performance. Someone had put serious effort into this macabre landscaping.
The security footage revealed my worst nightmare. There she was – my ex-girlfriend – appearing on night two of my vacation like something from a horror movie. For four relentless hours, she dug methodically in my yard by headlight glow, pausing only to plant a wooden cross at the head of the makeshift grave. The camera caught her turning to smile directly into the lens before leaving. When I zoomed in on the cross, two words made my blood run cold: “Traitor lies here.”
Police found her renting an apartment just blocks away. During questioning, she calmly explained, “I just wanted him to understand my pain.” As they took her for psychiatric evaluation, I realized the hole wasn’t the worst part – it was knowing how long she’d been watching, waiting, and planning this twisted goodbye.
