“I saw the video.”
After everyone finally went home, I stood alone in the driveway looking at the pink streaks on the concrete.
My hands had started shaking.
Not from fear.
From the strange realization that Monica had yelled, threatened, embarrassed me — and the world had not ended because I’d refused to back down.
“Because of the video?”
****
Two weeks later, Mr. Alvarez, Monica’s landlord, knocked on my door. I’d known him for years — he’d been a good friend of my late husband before moving out of state.
“I thought you deserved to hear this from me,” he said. “I saw the video.”
“And?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Her lease is up next month,” he continued. “I won’t be renewing it.”
Paint hadn’t been her only dose of karma.
I blinked. “Because of the video?”
“No. I decided to take a closer look at everything.”
“Something else was wrong?”
“She’s behind on several utility payments. I inspected the house, too. There’s damage she never reported — and a few repairs she made without permission.”
I glanced toward Monica’s house.
She never looked my way.
Apparently, the pink paint hadn’t been her only dose of karma.
****
A month later, I sat on my porch with a glass of iced tea and watched Monica load the last of her boxes into a moving truck.
She never looked my way.
My gnome sat proudly by the mailbox, back where he belonged.
“Kindness isn’t the same as silence, El.”
I could almost hear my late husband’s voice saying it.
This time, I didn’t mistake keeping quiet for keeping the peace.
