“I found out my neighbor had been stealing my packages for a while. I could’ve called the cops, but nah—

I stepped outside before she could run. “Looking for something?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

She froze, clutching the box to her chest. “I was just… making sure no one else took it.”

“Darlene, I have you on video. And I know about the returns.”

Her face went pale. She sank onto my porch steps. “Please… don’t call the police.”

I felt a strange swirl of satisfaction and sadness. I had every right to press charges. But as I looked at her shaking hands and tear-filled eyes, I wondered: how had it come to this?

She told me everything. Her husband, Preston, had left her six months ago. She was drowning in credit card debt, behind on her mortgage, and terrified she’d lose the house she’d lived in for twenty years.

Stealing my packages had started as desperation. Then she realized how easy it was to return them for cash, and it spiraled.

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