Chapter 5 - THE HOSTILE TAKEOVER
When I returned to my street later that afternoon,
the silver sedan was gone,
but the front yard looked different.
My potted geraniums,
the ones I had nurtured for three years on the porch,
were lying smashed in the driveway.
The soil was scattered across the concrete,
and the beautiful red petals were crushed under tire tracks.
My heart pounded in my chest as I walked up the steps,
my keys already in my hand.
I slid the key into the deadbolt,
but it wouldn't turn.
I tried again,
pushing harder,
but the key refused to slide into the cylinder.
They had changed the locks.
In the broad daylight,
while I was seeking help,
they had locked me out of my own life.
I banged on the door,
the solid oak vibrating under my fists.
"Matthew!"
I screamed.
"Open this door!"
"Matthew!"
There was no answer,
but I saw the curtain in the living room twitch.
Someone was inside,
watching me.
"Open the door,
Jessica!"
I yelled,
feeling a hot wave of fury wash over me.
"This is my house!"
The window above the porch slid open,
and Jessica leaned out,
looking down at me with a smirk that made my blood run cold.
"Oh,
look,
the witch is back,"
she sneered,
resting her elbows on the sill.
"I told you to get lost,
Margaret."
"This isn't your house anymore,
we've changed the locks,
and your trash is in the alley."
"My trash?"
I gasped,
my breath catching in my throat.
"My belongings?"
"Yeah,
all those dusty old photo albums and ugly clothes,"
she said,
waving her hand dismissively.
"We cleaned out the guest room today,
it's going to be our baby's nursery."
"You have no right!"
I screamed,
my voice cracking with emotion.
"The police are coming,
Jessica!"
"Let them come,"
she laughed,
pulling the window shut and locking it with a sharp click.
I stumbled backward down the steps,
tripping over the smashed geraniums,
feeling completely defeated.
"Margaret!"
a voice called out from across the lawn.
It was my neighbor,
Eleanor,
running toward me with her arms open.
She had lived next door for forty years,
and she had seen the whole thing.
"Oh,
Margaret,
come inside,"
she said,
wrapping her arms around my trembling shoulders.
"I saw them throwing your things into the trash bins earlier,
I tried to stop them,
but that awful girl threatened to call the police on me."
"Come,
sit down,
have some tea."
I looked back at my silent,
locked house,
feeling like a stranger in my own neighborhood.
The home I had built with Arthur,
the home where we raised our son,
was now a hostile fortress,
May you like
and I was left standing in the cold,
clutching a key that no longer worked.
