I dropped the glass I was holding. It shattered on the kitchen floor. I gripped the counter, gasping for air. The pain radiated through my back, tight and unforgiving. It felt like labor, but I was still four weeks away from my due date.
Panic set in. I needed my emergency medication, but the pharmacy had called that morning to say my prescription was ready for pickup, and I hadn’t gone to get it yet. Mark was on a 24-hour shift. I had no family in the state.
I forced myself to breathe through the pain, grabbed my keys, and hobbled out to my car in the driveway. The drive to the pharmacy was a blur of agonizing cramps. By the time I picked up the bottle of pills and navigated back into Whispering Pines, I was sweating through my clothes, and my vision was blurring at the edges.
I pulled onto Elmwood Drive. My driveway was partially blocked by a massive landscaping truck working on the house across the street. I was in too much pain to maneuver around it.
Desperate to just get inside, I pulled my sedan parallel to the curb, right near the property line. I left the engine running, planning to just run inside, swallow my pills, and come back out to move the car properly.
I left the driver’s door unlocked and stumbled up my front walkway. I made it to the kitchen, dry-swallowed two pills from the bottle, and leaned over the sink, waiting for the medication to dull the agonizing tightness in my stomach.
It took about five minutes for the worst of the contraction to pass. Sweaty and trembling, I walked back out the front door to move my car into the garage.
As I opened the door, my heart dropped.
There was a bright orange sticker plastered directly onto my windshield, right in my line of sight.
Patty was standing at the end of my walkway, flanked by Linda and Susan. Patty held a roll of heavy-duty adhesive violation stickers in one hand and her clipboard in the other.
"You were warned," Patty said loudly, making sure the landscapers across the street could hear.
I walked slowly down the path, clutching my stomach. "Patty, please. I was having a medical emergency. The driveway was blocked, and I just needed to get inside to take my medication."
"The rules do not care about your excuses," Patty snapped. She pointed at the bright orange sticker. It was one of those industrial towing stickers that are nearly impossible to scrape off without chemical solvent. "You are parked within fifteen feet of a municipal fire hydrant. That is a five-hundred-dollar HOA violation, payable immediately."
"I was inside for five minutes!" I yelled, my patience finally breaking. "My car is running! Move out of my way."
I walked past her, intending to just get into my car. But as I grabbed the door handle, I noticed something strange.
My tire was exactly an inch away from the bright red fire hydrant. But as I looked at the hydrant itself, something felt off. The red paint was slightly too bright, almost glossy, unlike the dull, chipped municipal fixtures on the other streets. And at the base, where the heavy iron was supposed to bolt into the concrete sidewalk, the bolts looked strangely clean.
Before I could look closer, Patty lunged forward, physically inserting herself between me and the hydrant.
"Do not look at my property," she hissed, her face inches from mine.
"It's a city hydrant," I said, stepping back from her aggressive posture. "It's not your property."
"It is my curb!" Patty screamed, her composure entirely vanishing. Her eyes were wide, and the vein in her neck bulged against her skin. "I am the law on this street! If you park here again, I will have your vehicle impounded, and I will place a lien on your house!"
I got into my car, slammed the door, and backed into my driveway. I was shaking, tears of frustration and physical pain burning my eyes.
As I sat in the driver's seat, watching Patty and her two cronies march triumphantly back to her house, a cold realization settled in my chest. This wasn’t just about HOA rules. She wasn't just being difficult.
Patty was terrified I was going to touch that hydrant.
CHAPTER 2
The heavy thud of Mark’s boots in the hallway was the only thing that finally allowed me to relax my shoulders. It was 7:00 AM the next morning. Mark looked exhausted, smelling of smoke and stale coffee from his shift, but as soon as he saw the bright orange sticker glued to my windshield in the driveway, his jaw tightened.
He walked into the kitchen, where I was sitting with a cup of herbal tea, staring blankly at the wall.
"Did she do that?" Mark asked, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor.