The Dream Home… and the Neighbor from Lawn Hell Owning a home was my biggest dream. I worked hard for years, saved every penny, and finally—at 29 years old—it came true. I had my own little house in Oakridge Estates. It wasn’t huge. Just a simple two-bedroom with creaky floors and a patchy lawn. But it was mine. Every cracked tile, every leaky faucet, every weed in the yard belonged to me. It was a warm afternoon when I pulled into my driveway, the sun baking the back of my

To Jessica, the Thursday Lunch Club seemed like a lifeline—a group of women who promised friendship and belonging. But behind their shiny wine glasses and polished smiles, there were cracks. Deep ones. Bitterness, judgment, secrets. Jessica didn’t see it at first. She only saw the warmth she was desperate for. After losing Phil, her husband, the silence at home felt too loud. She would’ve accepted anyone who offered her a chair at their table. And so, she joined the Thursday Lunch Club. Every Thursday at noon, same spot—corner table by

“Don’t go to the basement.” That was all my boss said before he hung up the phone. At first, I thought it was just another one of his weird orders. He was always strange like that—full of himself and demanding. But when I arrived at his house and his daughter said something about what—or who—was downstairs, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to go look. If someone had told me six months ago that my job as an architect’s assistant would mostly be about running errands and delivering coffee, I