Chapter 5: What Monica Said at My Door
I didn't invite her in.
I stood in the doorway and waited.
She had changed out of whatever she'd been wearing and put on a neat blouse, like she'd prepared for this.
Her hair was brushed.
She was holding herself carefully, the way people do when they're trying very hard to appear calm.
"I want to apologize," she said.
"All right."
"I shouldn't have used your outlet.
It was wrong.
I know that."
"It was," I said.
She nodded.
Swallowed.
"And the text last night — that was stupid.
I was angry and I sent something I shouldn't have.
I'm sorry."
I looked at her steadily.
"Monica, your husband already told me it came from your second phone."
Something moved across her face.
Not guilt exactly.
More like the calculation of someone deciding how much to admit.
"I panicked," she said.
"Derek was so upset and I just — I reacted badly.
I'm sorry."
"You've said that twice now."
"Because I mean it."
"Then why did you do it in the first place?" I asked.
"Not the text.
The outlet.
You have a house, a Tesla, a landscaped yard.
You're not struggling.
So why?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she finally said.
"I just — I saw the outlet there and I thought, she won't even notice.
She lives alone.
She's retired.
What does she need all that electricity for?"
"It's mine," I said simply.
"That's what I need it for."
She looked down at the porch.
"I know."
"The lawn mower," I said.
"You went into my garage and took it.
You didn't ask."
"I was going to return it—"
"You kept it for three weeks.
I had to hire someone to mow my lawn."
"I'm sorry about that too."
"And the gnome."
Her chin came up slightly.
"It was just a garden ornament."
"It was my husband's," I said.
That landed.
I watched it land.
Her mouth opened slightly.
"I didn't know that."
"You didn't ask.
You just took it because you wanted it." I kept my voice even.
"That's the pattern, Monica.
You see something that belongs to someone else and you decide your want is bigger than their right to keep it."
She didn't have an answer for that.
"I'll return the gnome today," she said quietly.
"Thank you."
She turned to go, then stopped.
"Are you going to do anything else?
With the footage, I mean.
Or the invoice."
"Derek paid the invoice this morning."
"I know.
But the footage." She turned back to face me.
"Are you going to report it?
To the HOA or — or anywhere?"
I looked at her for a long moment.
"That depends," I said.
"On what?"
"On whether this is actually over."
She held my gaze.
"It's over."
"Good," I said.
And I closed the door.
I stood in my hallway and listened to her footsteps going down the porch steps.
I heard her cross the driveway.
I heard her front door open and close.
I thought: maybe that's the end of it.
But then I remembered the text.
*You have no idea what's coming.*
And I went to my computer and sent the security footage to my email.
All fourteen days of it.
May you like
Every file, timestamped and labeled.
Just in case.
