What began as a simple favor turned into a betrayal I never saw coming. I had trusted my neighbor, Lisa, for years.
She’d watched my house every time I left town for work — watered my plants, collected my mail, even restocked the fridge before I returned. We weren’t just neighbors; we were friends.
The kind that borrow sugar and exchange casseroles. So handing her my keys again before my month-long business trip felt as routine as brushing my teeth.
“Just the usual,” I said as I handed them over, trying to ignore the weight of the upcoming deal I was flying out to close.
Lisa smiled, gave me a hug, and wished me luck. I pulled away from the curb without a second thought, imagining I’d be back in a month to my quiet home, as always.
I didn’t make it a month.
The deal that was supposed to change my career stalled. Then unraveled. By the fourth day, the client ghosted and my boss called to say I was being let go. I felt hollow. After years of loyalty, I was unemployed in a hotel room halfway across the country, staring at a skyline that now meant nothing.
I booked a flight home that night. Three weeks earlier than planned.
When I turned onto my street, the late summer sky was fading to dusk. My thoughts were still clouded by disbelief. I wasn’t thinking about anything but pajamas and wine — until I saw the black minivan in my driveway.
I slowed down, confused.
Maybe Lisa had guests?
But the confusion turned to alarm as I neared the kitchen window and caught a glimpse of strangers inside — a man, a woman, two kids — gathered around my kitchen table. They were eating dinner. Laughing. As if my home was theirs.
Heart racing, I left my suitcase behind and marched up the path. I didn’t knock.
I burst through my front door.
“What the hell is going on?”
The man stood up, palms slightly raised. “Ma’am, we’re just renting this place for the week. Through a vacation site. We have confirmation.”
I blinked. “You’re what?”
I turned on my heel and stormed across the street. Only one person had access to my house.
Lisa opened her door with a smile that died the moment she saw me.
“You’re back early.”
“There are strangers in my house,” I snapped. “They said they rented it. Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
Her face fell. “Caroline, I… I didn’t think you’d come home early. I’ve done it before. Only while you were gone. It seemed harmless.”
“For how long?” I asked coldly.
Lisa looked at her feet. “Since last year.”
My stomach turned.
She tried to explain. “It was just sitting there. And people are always looking for short-term stays. I never let anything get damaged. I always cleaned it before you came back.”
I wanted to scream. But I didn’t.
Instead, I said calmly, “You owe me. Fifteen grand. One week.”
And I left.
Lisa paid. Quietly, shamefully. Our friendship died on the front porch, no words of closure needed.
I took the money, added my savings, and bought myself a little apartment. Modest. Clean. Mine. No neighbors holding spare keys. No borrowed favors that cost too much in the end.
