That night, sleep never came.
I paced the house from room to room, too angry and unsettled to sit still. My hands trembled constantly, and every few minutes I found myself glancing out the window toward the broken fence.
At one point, I sat down with a notepad and carefully wrote out everything that had happened.
Then I tore the paper into pieces.
Who would believe me?
By morning, exhaustion had finally settled into my bones.
But when I opened the back door, the fatigue vanished instantly.
I froze.
My fence was fixed.
“Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed.
It had not simply been patched.
It had been completely restored.
Each board stood perfectly aligned. The support posts had been replaced and reinforced. Along the bottom of the fence, small solar-powered garden statues had been placed, glowing softly even in the daylight.
And in one quiet corner of the yard stood a small white tea table with two matching chairs.
I stepped outside slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid I might wake from a dream.
My fingers brushed the fresh wood of the fence.
