After discovering my husband Brett’s year-long affair, I kicked him out and flew to Seattle to stay with my best friend, Livia. I needed space to breathe, to heal. Before leaving, I locked my bedroom, gave workers access only to the kitchen, and kept my doorbell camera running—just in case.
Three days into my trip, I casually checked the footage. My stomach dropped. There was Greta, my nosy neighbor, slipping into my home behind a worker. I pressed play, and what I heard made my blood boil.
“Poor Kiera,” Greta whispered. “Brett probably left because she was too bossy.”
I could hardly believe it. Gossiping about my broken marriage inside my own house? That was the last straw.
I rushed home. But when I walked into my finished kitchen, I froze. Curtains everywhere. Counters the wrong color. My sleek design ruined.
Then Greta appeared, smiling. “I thought it needed cheering up!”
I pulled out my phone. “Greta, I’ve got you on video. The HOA will deal with this trespassing.”
Her smile vanished. Mine didn’t.
This time, I was taking back control.
