They Told Me To Endure Her, Until They Faced Her Nightmare Too Chapter 06

At nine the next morning, Hannah posted a long rant.

Not on our building thread, but publicly on Nextdoor for the whole block to see.

[Warning to anyone near 142 Elm: The tenant in 5A is weaponizing noise to target my medical condition.]

She immediately followed it with:

[I never refused to pay damages. But I won’t be set up like this.]

The comments piled up within minutes:

[Wait, how loud can a door even be?]

[If it’s medical, this feels malicious.]

Someone tagged management, asking if 5A’s industrial door was even up to code.”

My phone buzzed. It was Wendy.

“Are you seeing this?” she snapped. “She’s playing the victim! I literally saw her outside your door last night with that wedge!”

“You saw her two nights ago, too,” I said.

A brief pause on the line.

“Are you willing to post that?” I asked.

“Right now,” Wendy said.

“Don’t diagnose her. Just say what you saw.”

I hung up and opened my files folder.

The split doorframe from night one. The $280 invoice for the emergency lock repair.

Hannah’s voice note claiming she was completely out of it.

The audio from the night before the installation, along with my unanswered maintenance tickets.

The invoice, manufacturer specs, and fire rating for the new slab.

And the dull, ringing thuds of metal being hammered over the past forty-eight hours.

I numbered the files and posted:

[I’m in 5A. My original door was splintered from the outside, which is why it was replaced. I didn’t install steel to invite someone to beat on it.]

[The door is certified fire-rated with zero modifications. Management inspected it yesterday.]

[I can’t speak on Hannah’s medical history. I do know she repeatedly attacks my entrance late at night, causes property damage, and keeps the hallway awake. That needs to end.]

[I haven’t harassed her, and I have no authority to evict anyone. I want two things: the banging to stop, and

reimbursement for the repairs.]

I uploaded the thread with the files attached.

Ten minutes later, Miller chimed in from the super account:

[5A’s door meets all building codes and does not obstruct the landing. Unprovoked late-night impacts have

been logged as lease violations. The landlord of 4A has been served.]

Not a “neighbor dispute.”

Not “let’s all get along.”

Lease violations.

Wendy followed immediately with a video taken through her cracked door.

Hannah was crouched on the landing, the doorstop sitting beside her sneaker.

Wendy wrote:

[She stopped when I opened my door, but the wedge was right there. Saw her with it two nights in a row. My

kid was terrified. Summer didn’t cause this-Hannah did.]

Derek dropped an audio file recorded from the upper flight. The heavy, rhythmic pounding stopped the

moment his shoes clattered on the metal stairs.

[Recorded from my landing. No theories, just facts. Explain why she keeps coming up to five.]

The tone in the comments flipped.

[So 5A was supposed to just let her door get kicked in?]

[First you complained about soundproofing, now the door is too durable?]

Someone tagged Wendy: [Where was all this when Summer asked for help three days ago?]

Wendy didn’t argue.

[I was wrong. I blew it off until it woke my kid.]

Hannah’s landlord joined the board twenty minutes later, saw the thread, and posted that she was taking the

train into the city to meet with management at three.

Hannah tried flooding the thread with excuses:

[I have a massive migraine. Why is everyone ganging up on me?]

Derek shut it down:

[Are you showing up at three or not?]

At noon, I slung my laptop over my shoulder and took the stairs down.

On the fourth-floor landing, Hannah stepped out of 4A, blocking the narrow walkway.

Her eyes were bloodshot, but dry.

“You had this all ready, didn’t you, Summer?”

I stopped two steps up.

“The heavy door. The recordings. The whole paper trail,” she muttered. “You were waiting for me to slip up.”

“Did you offer to cover the repair?” I asked.

She blinked.

“Did you cover my deadlines when I didn’t sleep for three days straight?”

“I’m asking if you set me up!”

“I protected my door and my job,” I said, holding the rail. “Step aside.”

She didn’t move.

“If you hadn’t come back up those stairs,” I added, “none of this would exist.”

Her jaw tightened. Then, stiffly, she took half a step back toward her doorway.

I walked past her.

Behind me, she dropped her voice: “You think you won?”

I kept walking.

That didn’t sound like someone who just wanted to clear up an honest mistake.