For weeks, my neighbor ignored every request to stop blocking our driveway. Then one morning, I got up before sunrise and made a single call.
I was still on the phone when I saw her bedroom curtains.
Closed.
Not a light on in the whole house.
I said, “No, she’s asleep. Take your time.”
The man on the other end confirmed the address.
“Silver Vauxhall Corsa?”
“That’s the one.”
“Fully blocking vehicle access?”
“Completely.”
“And you’ve documented repeat obstruction?”
I looked down at the photographs on my phone.
Twenty-two mornings.
Twenty-two timestamps.
Twenty-two versions of the same silver car sitting across the end of our driveway like Denise had personally purchased that strip of road.
“Yes.”
“All right. We’ll send someone.”
I ended the call.
Then I made coffee.
That was it.
No revenge fantasy.
No slashed tires.
No blocking her car in.
No screaming through her letterbox.
I went upstairs, showered, got dressed, and packed lunches for my boys.
