Moving into a new neighborhood is supposed to be a fresh start,
a chance to enjoy peace and maybe even make new friends.
That’s what I thought when I moved into Maple Grove with my
eight-year-old son, Daniel. Life had been tough since the divorce,
but we were finally ready for a new chapter. Unfortunately,
I hadn’t counted on Linda—the neighbor who would turn my life into a package-stealing nightmare.
Linda seemed sweet at first. The day we moved in, she appeared at
my door with a tray of cookies and a smile so wide it could sell toothpaste.
“Welcome to the neighborhood!” she chirped. “I’m Linda, from next door. Let me know if you ever need anything.”
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