house.
Her blinds were closed.
I wanted to march over and confront her.
But I didn’t.
Because that had become the pattern.
Something happened.
I suspected Denise.
And I had absolutely no proof.
She seemed to know that.
Whenever we passed each other outside, she would smile at me.
Not a friendly smile.
It was the kind of look that made me feel as though she knew exactly what I was thinking and enjoyed the fact that I couldn’t prove any of it.
I considered installing security cameras.
Cameras
But I kept putting it off.
Part of me wondered if I was becoming paranoid.
Another part resented the idea of spending money just because my neighbor couldn’t behave like an adult.
Then, two weeks ago, everything escalated.
I opened my front door one morning, keys in hand, and stared at my car.
For several seconds, my brain couldn’t process what
