“I reported what you did on my property.”
“Nothing else.”
“You created the rest.”
For once, Vanessa had no immediate reply.
Then she said quietly:
“You could have just kept ignoring it.”
That sentence explained everything.
Not:
I thought it was harmless.
Not:
I didn’t understand.
She knew.
She had simply expected me to remain the version of Eleanor who kept letting things slide.
“I could have.”
I looked at her.
“But I didn’t.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
For the first time, I saw exhaustion rather than entitlement.
She sat down on the low brick wall beside my garden.
“I’m in trouble financially.”
I remained standing.
“My husband left last year.”
I had known he traveled.
I had not known he left.
“He sends money sometimes.”
She looked toward her house.
“I was trying to keep everything normal for the kids.”
I listened.
No interruptions.
No judgment.
“The car payment was too high.”
“The house is too expensive.”
“The charging station broke.”
“I kept thinking if I could save money here and there…”
She laughed weakly.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“You hate me.”
“No.”
She seemed surprised.
“I don’t trust you.”
“That is different.”
She looked down.
“I shouldn’t have taken your things.”
“No.”
“Or used your electricity.”
“No.”
“Or water.”
