Mrs. Johnson had moved in a few months ago. She was the type who always looked perfect. Every morning, she’d step out in her sharp business suit, heels clicking on the driveway as she rushed off.
She never waved at anyone, always too busy on her phone. The neighborhood watched her, but she kept her distance.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. Live and let live, right? I had enough to worry about with my own life—keeping up with Ethan, my 12-year-old son, was a job in itself. I figured Mrs. Johnson was just private. No harm in that.
