He Threw Garbage at My Place, I Made His Home a Garbage Yard
Chapter 4
I didn’t quite get it. Since when did this family have a change of heart?
“Mm,” I answered flatly.
Robert lifted the trash bag in his hand. “This is yours, right? I’ll take it out for you.”
I stayed cautious and kept it polite. “Thanks.”
He hummed a tune as he walked off with the bag, looking oddly pleased.
I watched his back disappear down the hall, unsure what his angle was.
Maybe the officers’ warning and the threat of fines finally taught him some manners.
Two nights later, just before bed, I was scrolling on my phone out of habit when a local TikTok trending tag popped up—
#ViciousHomewreckerBulliesWife—GetsTaughtALesson
The title was pure clickbait, and the views were climbing fast.
My eyelid twitched. I tapped in.
Pinned up top was a heavily edited video from an account called “Sunflare (No Mercy for Homewreckers)”.
The poster was Karen.
It opened on her puffy, tear-reddened eyes over a sorrowful soundtrack.
Then came a “surveillance clip,” carefully cut: only the part where she and I were arguing—overdubbed with their fake audio—
with all the context of their trash-dumping conveniently removed.
Next, the footage jumped to the moment when Robert had “helped” take out my trash the day before.
What had actually been a brief exchange through a cracked door
was AI-faked into me rushing out, hugging Robert, kissing him, clinging to him so he couldn’t leave—
then “holding him in a tight embrace for ten minutes” before “sweetly handing him the trash,”
and standing in the doorway “watching him go downstairs,” sickeningly lovestruck.
I nearly gagged.
The video ended with Karen clutching her husband and son, the three of them sobbing into the camera.
Through tears, Karen pleaded,
“Everyone, please judge this fairly! That woman moved in and seduced my husband. He tried to leave, and she wouldn’t let him! When I confronted her, she flew into a rage and came to my door to insult me!”
Black and white reversed. Facts twisted beyond recognition.
The cutting and storytelling were textbook-level malicious.
The comments exploded beneath the post:
“Holy crap, I’ve never seen a homewrecker this shameless!”
“The wife is so pitiful—bullied in broad daylight!”
“Doxx this witch! Isn’t her address Building C, Unit 802, Green Valley Condos? Let’s go!”
“Stay strong, sis! Donated!”
My phone was instantly flooded with hateful texts and unknown calls.
Even my Facebook blew up, and someone dug out my real name and workplace.
Riding the heat, Karen went live that very night.
On camera, she was barefaced, eyes swollen.
She said almost nothing—just stared at the lens with silent tears, occasionally choking out, “Thank you, everyone. I’ll be strong.”
The livestream donations effects never stopped, filling the screen.
“Sunflare” was now the pitiable wife “bullied by a brazen homewrecker,” raking in sympathy and cash.
I was shaking with anger. I tried to explain, but every attempt was drowned in a tidal wave of abuse.
Call the police? The officers said it was a civil dispute—take it up with the platform or file for defamation.
Report it to the platform? My complaints vanished into the void; with traffic that high, why would they rush to take it down?
In just a few days, it felt like the whole world had cast me out. Even stepping outside, I could feel the pointing and whispers.
Meanwhile, that family of three, fueled by livestream tips and “good Samaritans,” smugly posted a new announcement video:
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