She moved it before the final removal process was completed.
But the penalty stayed.
So did the formal record.
And apparently that was enough to ruin her morning.
Good.
At 7:42, I put the boys in our car.
We reversed out of our driveway without asking permission from anybody.
Oliver clapped.
Actually clapped.
“Mum, we’re early!”
That hurt more than I expected.
A six-year-old should not be excited because his own driveway is usable.
We got to school 12 minutes before the gate opened.
Ben looked at me in the rearview mirror.
“Do I still get a late mark?”
“No.”
He smiled.
That was worth the 5:30 alarm by itself.
I arrived at work early too.
My manager, Karen, stared at me.
“Everything okay?”
“Neighbor problem.”
“The car?”
I’d had to explain it after the third late morning.
“Handled.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Legally?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
Then she handed me a coffee.
I thought that was the end.
It wasn’t.
Of course it wasn’t.
That evening, Denise knocked on our door.
My husband, Mark, answered.
He knew nothing.
I’d deliberately kept the whole plan from him because Mark is a decent man with one major flaw.
He believes almost every conflict can be solved by “just having a calm chat.”
Sometimes it can.
Sometimes you’ve already had six.
I was in the kitchen when I heard Denise say, “I need to speak to your wife.”
Mark looked back at me.
“What happened?”
“Long story.”
Denise heard.
“She had my car nearly towed.”
Mark slowly turned toward me.
“You what?”
