The coffee slipped from her hand.
Curious, I stepped outside. Ethan followed.
The man glanced at Melinda… then at our yard.
At the damage.
His expression changed.
Instead of going to her, he walked to our gate.
“Hi, I’m Jonathan from the neighborhood association. Mind if I come in?”
I hesitated—then opened it.
He crouched to Ethan’s level.
“Hey, Ethan… why are you so sad? What happened?”
Ethan tried to speak but broke down.
“We… we found them… they couldn’t walk… so I made them wheels… and we built them a house… and then someone broke it.”
I filled in the rest.
Jonathan studied the fence.
Then glanced back at Melinda.
She wasn’t calm anymore.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” he said, resting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
“I promise I’ll look into it.”
His voice was calm.
But his eyes said otherwise.
He walked back to Melinda.
“I find it interesting you’re the only one complaining about these dogs,” he said.
She forced a smile. “I’ve had concerns.”
“You filed three complaints. Now their property is damaged.”
“That’s not my responsibility. Anyone could’ve done that.”
He nodded.
“Of course.”
She relaxed.
That didn’t last.
Two days later, Jonathan returned.
This time—to our house.
“Come with me,” he said. “You should see this.”
We followed.
Melinda opened the door, smiling—until she saw us.
“What’s going on?”
Jonathan pulled out his phone.
