At 52, I thought I’d seen every move from husband-chasing troublemakers. I was dead wrong. My new neighbor, a young, freshly divorced fitness fan, tried to make my husband her next trophy.
So I showed her why messing with a married man is a bad call. Three months ago, a moving truck pulled up next door, and out stepped trouble in heels. Her name was Mia.
She was 25, blonde, and just out of a divorce that handed her a house she didn’t work for and a vibe that screamed, “I’m after your husband next.”
Everyone on the street knew her deal: she’d married a 73-year-old lonely widower, Mr. Harris, then took half his money when he couldn’t keep up with her “way of living.”
I watched her from my kitchen window, bossing movers around in shorts way too tiny for a morning move-in. “Tom, come look at our new neighbor!” I called to my husband.
He walked over, coffee mug in hand, and nearly choked. “Wow, she’s… young.”
“She’s bad news,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’ll see.”
Tom laughed and kissed my cheek.
“Kate, not everyone’s out to cause trouble. Maybe she just wants to fit in.”
“Oh, she wants to fit in alright… right into our marriage.”
“Kate, come on!”
“Just joking!” I said, but I wasn’t totally. Being the nice neighbor I was brought up to be, I baked some oatmeal cookies and headed to Mia’s house the next morning.
She opened the door in a thin robe that barely covered her. “Oh wow, that’s so sweet!” She grabbed the cookie basket like it was a prize. “You must be Kate!
Tom told me all about you.”
My smile got tight. “Oh, really? When did you two get to chat?”
“Last night when I was picking up my mail.
He was working in your yard.” She leaned against the door. “Such a great guy. You’re so lucky to have a man who handles things.”
The way she said “things” made my skin crawl.
“Yeah, he takes awesome care of what’s HIS,” I said, stressing the last word. She laughed like I’d told a great joke. “Well, if you ever need anything… anything at all… I’m right next door!”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Within a week, Mia’s “friendly” act got bold fast, like a kid racking up a phone bill.
Every morning, she’d show up at her fence just as Tom left for work, waving like she was calling for help. “Hey, Tom! That jacket looks sharp on you!”
“Your lawn’s amazing!
You must stay in shape!”
“Can you help me lift a heavy box sometime? I’m just not strong enough!”
I watched this nonsense from behind my curtains, practically fuming. By Thursday morning, I’d had it.
I stepped outside just as Mia was doing her usual routine. “Morning, Mia! Nice day, huh?”
She stood up straight, clearly annoyed I’d cut in.
“Oh, hi Kate. Yeah, it’s nice.”
“Tom, sweetie, don’t forget we’re having dinner with my mom tonight,” I said loudly, looping my arm through his. “Actually, I was hoping Tom could help me move my couch this weekend,” Mia jumped in, fluttering her eyes.
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