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“No,” I said. “You’re fine.
Go play.”
I didn’t want neighbor drama. I didn’t want my kids feeling like criminals every time they laughed outdoors.
So I ignored the glare through the blinds. The storm-door staring.
The irritated sighs when she got in her car and they were playing nearby.
I told myself she’d get over it.
She did not get over it.
Last week, everything snapped.
The boys wanted to go to the playground with Ethan, the kid from three houses down.
I watched them all walk down the sidewalk. It’s a two-minute walk. I could still see them from our porch for part of it.
I went back inside and started loading the dishwasher.
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