While I was at work, my parents, my sister, and her two kids were already hauling boxes into my mountain house. Mom smiled like it was settled. “We all live here now. It’s family property.” They planned their big “move-in day.” I planned something else.

“Your neighbor’s description matches. And you already have a standing trespass record for her.”

“Can you arrest her?” I asked.

“Not without clear identification or footage,” he said. “But this incident strengthens your case if she attempts anything again.”

I closed my eyes as the wind pushed across the deck, cold enough to sting.

“I’ll install cameras,” I breathed.

“That would help,” he said. “A lot.”

The officers moved around the property a few more minutes, documenting the marks, speaking with Gloria, looking for footprints. But the frost had already begun to melt where the intruder had run. No clear tracks remained.

When they finally left, Gloria walked me back toward my porch.

“You don’t deserve this, Mara,” she said softly. “I’ve lived next to you two years. You’re a good woman. You keep to yourself. You always help when people ask. None of this is your fault.”

My eyes burned.

“I know,” I whispered, surprising myself with how true the words felt. “I know.”

After she returned to her home, I stepped inside the cabin and locked the door behind me—every bolt, every latch, every reinforced piece of hardware Walter had installed.