I attached the locking cover to the faucet.
When I clicked it shut, the tiny key in my hand felt strangely satisfying.
For the first time in years, that faucet belonged only to me.
That evening, Harold called.
“My mom contacted me,” he said. “She says you locked the faucet and reported her to the HOA. I want to come over so we can talk.”
“Fine.”
There was a pause.
“There’s something you need to hear.”
“What?”
“You’ll hear it when you get here.”
Before he arrived, I emailed myself a copy of the recording.
Then I made tea and waited.
Harold thought he was coming over to mediate another argument between his mother and me.
He had no idea he was about to learn who had been draining our money for years.
When Harold pulled into the driveway, he stepped out looking exhausted.
“Mom says you reported her and locked the faucet. Can we please handle this like adults?”
