explain it to them.”
Her face turned pale.
“You wouldn’t actually press charges, would you?”
I looked at the woman who had lived beside us for four years.
The woman we’d trusted with spare keys to our garden shed.
The woman we’d invited into our home.
The woman who had smiled at me while black paint dried on our garage door.
“That’s no longer a decision you get to make for us,” I said.
She stood there, stunned.
Then she turned and walked away.
This time, I didn’t feel the
