Chapter 2 - Take Your Time
The tow truck came at 6:15.
Not some little pickup rig. A full flatbed with orange lights spinning across the top, loud enough that I heard it turn onto our street from inside the kitchen.
I watched from the window. I didn't go outside. I wasn't going to give her that.
Eleven minutes to hook the Civic and lift its front wheels off the ground. I counted every one of them.
At 6:40, Sharon's bedroom light snapped on.
By then I was already in the car, both boys buckled, engine running, coffee in the cup holder. We backed out at 6:43. First time in three weeks we'd left our own house without waiting on somebody else.
I dropped them at school eight minutes early.
My youngest pressed forward against his seatbelt. "Mom. We're early."
"Yeah," I said. "We are."
That evening there was a note pushed through our door. I recognized the handwriting from the one she'd left on my windshield back in June — the one that said *mind your own business.*
This one was shorter. Three words.
*You'll regret this.*
I was standing in the hallway holding it when my phone buzzed. A number I didn't know.
*She does this everywhere.*
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