called the police.

This time, Denise didn’t try to stop me.

When the officer arrived, I showed him the footage.

Eventually, Sabrina admitted that she had arranged to have Denise’s car covered in white paint.

And more importantly, Denise finally admitted that she had been responsible for my car.

Statements were taken.

Insurance companies became involved.

Repair estimates started piling up.

The entire situation became expensive and embarrassing very quickly.

Strangely, I didn’t enjoy Denise’s humiliation nearly as much as I had imagined I would.

For almost a year, I had fantasized about finally catching her.

I thought proving I had been right would feel satisfying.

Instead, I mostly felt tired.

A few days later, Denise knocked on my door again.

This time, she was fully dressed.

And calm.

“I brought you something.”

She handed me an envelope.