I’m Julia, and for over ten years, my husband Roger, our son Dean, and I lived a peaceful life in a quiet suburban neighborhood
—until Linda moved in next door with her golden retriever, Max. From day one, Linda was difficult. She blasted music, let Max
roam freely, and acted like the neighborhood rules didn’t apply to her. Still, I tried to keep the peace—until Max wandered into
my yard one afternoon and stepped on a rose thorn. I gently removed it and walked him back, expecting a thank you. Instead,
Linda accused me of hurting him. The next day, I found a note on my door: “