Ethan stood frozen.
And across the fence—
Melinda stood on her deck, calmly sipping coffee.
Watching.
We called the police.
Filed a report.
But without proof, nothing could be done.
It felt like hitting a wall.
Ethan barely spoke that day.
He sat in the middle of the wreckage, one hand resting on a dog.
“I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect you…”
I wanted to fix it.
But for the first time… I didn’t know how.
I thought that was the end.
I was wrong.
Exactly 24 hours later, a black van pulled into Melinda’s driveway.
She stepped outside, already irritated—until she saw the man stepping out.
Blazer. Badge.
Her face went pale.
