My kids were late for school every morning because my neighbor blocked our driveway on purpose — so on the fourth Monday I quit knocking and taught her a lesson the whole street still talks about.

The recycling bin went first.

I didn't even notice for two days, because pickup had already come and gone. Mark was the one who caught it — the bin just wasn't there. Not tipped over, not rolled down the block. Gone.

"Could somebody have grabbed it by accident?" he said.

"Whose accident?"

He didn't have an answer.

I reported it missing on the city website. They said ten business days for a replacement.

Meanwhile, I started a new log. Not just photos now. An actual notebook. Date, time, what was there, what wasn't.

Eleanor had warned me. I believed her. But believing a thing and watching it happen to you are two different animals.

---

Wednesday, I got back from the school run and found the gate to our side yard standing open.

I always latch it. Mark always latches it. The boys aren't tall enough to reach it.

Nothing inside was touched. Nothing missing. Just open.

I wrote it down.

Thursday, a letter addressed to us turned up in Eleanor's mailbox, three streets away. She texted me a photo. Just a newsletter from the boys' school, nothing urgent. But it had been in our box first. Somebody took it out and carried it three streets.

I called the post office. They logged it. I wrote it down.

---

Friday evening, Sharon knocked on our door.

Mark answered. I was in the kitchen and heard her before I heard him — bright, breezy, like she was bringing back a casserole dish.

"Is your wife home? Just wanted a quick word."

I came to the door. She was on the step in a pale blue jacket, arms loose at her sides, completely relaxed.

"I wanted to apologize," she said. "About the car. I honestly didn't realize it was such a problem for you."

I looked at her.

"I talked to someone at the city," she went on, "and they walked me through the rules. It won't happen again."

Mark shifted next to me.

"Thank you," I said.

"No hard feelings?" The smile went all the way up to her eyes. It always did.

"Of course not," I said.

She nodded, pleased with herself, and headed back down the walk.

Mark shut the door and turned to me. "You believe her?"

"No."

"Me neither."

I went back to the kitchen and wrote it in the notebook. *Friday. 6:42 p.m. Sharon knocked. Apologized. Smiled. Said it won't happen again.*

Then I underlined the last line.

---

Saturday morning, Eleanor texted again.

*She knocked on my door too. Same speech. Word for word.*

I wrote back: *When?*

*Thursday. Before she got to you, I think. She's done this before — the apology tour. Makes herself look reasonable right before the next move.*

I sat with that for a second. *What's the next move?* I typed.

Her reply took longer.

*Last time it was a complaint. She went to the city and said the Guerreros were harassing her. Said they were pounding on her door at all hours, leaving things on her porch. None of it true. But it muddied the water enough that the city closed both complaints at the same time.*

I read it twice. *She's going to file something against us,* I typed.

*I think she already has,* Eleanor wrote. *I saw a code officer parked outside 14 on Tuesday morning. Sat there twenty minutes.*

I set the phone on the table. Mark was watching me from the doorway.