She grinned as our cars were towed, certain she’d won her little war of suburbia. But by sunrise, she stood frozen on her porch, staring down the fallout of a $25,000 mistake she’d never forget.
Jack and I had only spent one night in the rental—a modest, single-story home in a sleepy suburb. Tan bricks, green shutters, a lawn that hadn’t seen a sprinkler in months. It was nothing permanent, just a temporary spot for a work assignment. We barely had the coffee maker unpacked when the doorbell rang.
Jack groaned. “We don’t even have curtains yet.”
