How neighborly do home additions have to be?

It was the third floor that did it for Courtney Leonard. For months, she watched as builders erected a long, rectangular structure on the edge of her neighbor Minh Nguyen’s property, forming a wall between their houses. Even at two floors, she thought, the boxy addition was out of place in Greenbriar, a suburban neighborhood in Fairfax County, Virginia.

Then she realized another floor was coming. Asked to recall her thoughts at that moment, Leonard responded with expletives, followed by a question: “How are we going to live with that?”

Fairfax County made it easier to build accessory dwelling units in a 2021 zoning overhaul as a response to explosive growth — the area’s population soared from 819,000 in 1990 to 1.15 million in 2020. As in many communities faced with a housing deficit, legislators hoped that streamlining a complex and arcane zoning code would encourage building.

So Nguyen, looking to find more room for his family, which includes his wife, two young children and his Vietnamese immigrant parents, hired a surveyor to conduct a survey to build a new structure on his property. An engineer created detailed plans. He applied for a building permit last February for a three-story, 3,000-square-foot structure, 32 feet high, which was granted last August.

“It’s weird — I know that,” said Nguyen, of the bulky addition. “But it fits the needs of my family.”

After Leonard grasped the scope of Nguyen’s intentions that fall, she complained. “I have to express my deep frustration and disappointment with this situation,” she wrote in an email to county officials, who initially responded that there was nothing to be done.

Around that time, Nguyen’s addition began to gain broader attention, much of it unflattering. Drone footage posted to Facebook on Nov. 15 went viral. Of the 1,600 comments the 20-second clip attracted, many expressed sardonic bemusement: “So they added a small apartment complex.” Others saw a budget hotel.

By then, Fairfax officials had taken notice. They asked for additional surveys, stemming from what the county called “staff concerns” about the side yard setback. Those surveys revealed that Nguyen’s addition was too close to Leonard’s property by 7.2 inches.

Inspectors also flagged Nguyen’s walls, which they said were improperly prepared to withstand lateral shocks like earthquakes and wind. All work stopped on Nov. 24, 2025, and a hearing in April will decide the future of the project, which has cost Nguyen close to $400,000.

The neighbors’ dispute is part of a national debate over housing density and affordability. As municipalities push for more housing, policymakers’ ideas can clash with on-the-ground realities, with constituents grousing about blocked views or lost parking spots.

Internet commenters have argued that a homeowners association, or HOA, could have stopped Nguyen. HOAs do dictate how yards and houses look, but they also add to the astronomic cost of home ownership. The average HOA fee is almost $300 per month, according to the National Association of Realtors.

To some, all the rancor is misguided. “Objectively, a three-story building is not that big, even in a context where other buildings are one or two stories,” said Tracy Hadden Loh, a fellow at the Brookings Institution. “A taller building being next to a shorter building isn’t hurting anyone.”

Today, the addition looks abandoned. Strips of Tyvek house wrap cling to the exterior frame. Inside, the stairs are finished. Beams indicate future rooms. But there aren’t doors or windows. A new heating and air conditioning system was meant to service both the original house and the addition, but the stop-work order arrived before it was installed. It was a miserable space-heater winter. “My family just went through hell,” Nguyen said.

Some drivers slow down on Nguyen’s street, marveling at the addition. According to Nguyen, a few have hurled insults his way, including once when he was playing in the front yard with his son.

Leonard is also unhappy. The addition looms over her single-story midcentury house. “It feels like we’re literally living in the shadows,” she said. She worries her rooftop solar array is now useless. Same for the backyard pavilion. Parts of her house have become cold and damp, she says.

“I don’t know that there’s a good solution here,” said Pat Herrity, a county supervisor. “A bad situation all around,” as he called it, could have been avoided if Nguyen had stopped to consider the principles of neighborliness. “Common sense says you don’t build a structure 30 feet tall and 60 feet long right on your neighbor’s property line,” Herrity said.

Nguyen said he was trying to do right by his family by giving them more space. He also noted that nearby suburbs are full of gaudy mansions, including a White House replica in McLean.

“I feel, right now, everybody is against me,” Nguyen said. Still, he and Leonard say they have no animosity toward each other. If never friends, they remain friendly.

Nguyen filed an appeal. The time to reject his plans, he argued, was when he submitted them in 2025. On that, at least, he and Leonard agree. “I certainly place some blame on the county for allowing it to get this far,” she said.

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.