At 52, I thought I’d seen every type of husband-stealing drama queen walk through life’s doors. But then came Amber—the kind of neighbor that turns a quiet street into a soap opera. She was young, blonde, fresh off a divorce, and armed with yoga pants and bad intentions. She thought she could make my husband her next trophy. Well, she picked the wrong marriage to mess with. Three months ago, a moving truck rolled up next door. Out stepped a blonde in stilettos at eight in the morning, barking orders

It all began with what seemed like an innocent compliment.“You’re so lucky to have that dress,” she said. I didn’t think twice about it — not until the next morning, when I reached for the garment bag and found it gone. My heart dropped into my stomach. I can still picture the image that made the dress so much more than fabric to me. My mom, soaked to the skin, laughing in the rain as if the storm itself was her dance partner. She was in her wedding dress —

I thought moving to a broken-down farm I had just inherited would finally give me peace. But when my neighbor copied my yellow fence, I had no idea it was only the beginning of something far more personal—something that would change my life forever. I grew up in a foster family. They were kind, patient people who tried their best. They packed my lunches, clapped at my school plays, even when all I did was stand in the back dressed as a cardboard tree. But real love… it’s not just