I smiled because it was funny enough, and because I was trying to become the kind of woman who had neighbor friends. My childhood neighborhoods had never felt like communities. They were just places where families pretended not to hear each other breaking. Marigold Lane was different. People waved. They borrowed ladders. They posted lost cats on the neighborhood app. I wanted to belong to that ordinary softness.
Tessa learned us quickly.
Too quickly, I later thought.
She learned I worked late shifts twice a week and alternating Saturdays. She learned Caleb liked IPAs and documentaries and hated cilantro. She learned our dog, Mason, would do anything for freeze-dried chicken treats. She learned which side of the garage held the spare trash bags and that Caleb always forgot recycling day unless someone reminded him.
She told me I was “so lucky” to have such a devoted husband.
She said it while looking at him a second too long.
At first, it felt harmless. Maybe even flattering. Tessa was flirty with everyone, I told myself. Some women spoke with their eyes because it made life easier. It did not mean anything.
But then she kept showing up at the edges.