The man didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah,” he replied, like we were talking about trash day. “You parked right in front of my house, Emily. People can’t see the whole setup because of your stupid car.”

“So… you egged my car because it blocked your juvenile decorations?”

“You could’ve parked somewhere else,” he said with a shrug. “It’s Halloween. It’s all good fun. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Good fun? You couldn’t have knocked on my door? Or left a note? I have to be at work at 8 a.m., and now I get to scrape egg off my windshield because you wanted a better angle for your fog machine?”

“The neighbors come to see my decorations every single year,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know that. Even your kids look through the windows! Don’t deny it, I’ve seen them! And anyway, you blocked the graveyard. I worked hard on that one.”

“I’m a single mom, Derek,” I said, my jaw clenched. “I have three kids. I carry diaper bags, backpacks, toys, groceries — sometimes all at once. I parked there because it’s close, and I got home late last night. I’m not breaking any laws.”

“Sweetheart,” Derek said, smiling slow and smug. “That’s really not my problem. You chose to have those kids. And maybe next time, you’ll choose to park somewhere else.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Then I nodded once.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Okay?” he repeated, tilting his head.

“Yes, that’s all.”

I turned and walked home. Lily and Max were standing at the window, faces pressed to the glass.

“Did the decoration guy yell at you?” Lily asked.

“No,” I said, managing a smile. “But he definitely messed with the wrong mom.”

That night, after the kids had finally fallen asleep, I stood in the kitchen for a long time just staring through the window.

I’d lied about work; I actually had two days off to be with my kids. But now I knew, the truth wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Derek was just a selfish man who needed to be taught a lesson.

During the course of the day, the egg had dried into streaks. The toilet paper, now limp from dew, hung like a surrender flag. I was too tired to cry and too angry to sleep.

So I picked up my phone and started documenting everything.

I took photos from every angle — the shell fragments near the tires, the yolk pooled at the base of the windshield, the toilet paper tangled around the mirrors. Then I recorded a short video and narrated it in a voice steadier than I felt, making sure to state the date and time.

The silence of my house made every tap of my screen sound like a drumbeat. It felt clinical and methodical — like I was treating a wound.

Afterward, I slipped on a sweater, grabbed the baby monitor, and crossed the street to Marisol’s place. Her living room light was still on. She answered in slippers, a face mask, and held onto a cup of chamomile tea in one hand.

“You okay, honey?” she asked, eyeing me gently. “The babies are okay?”

“They’re fine. And I will be,” I said. “But listen, did you see anything strange last night? Outside my house, along the street — that kind of thing?”

She glanced at my car and winced.

“Yeah, Em,” she said. “I saw Derek outside around 11 p.m. I thought he was just fixing those stupid decorations of his. How much do you think he spends on them? For a grown man… that’s weird, right?”

“Marisol, focus,” I said, grinning. “Would you be willing to say that you saw him if someone asked?”

“Of course, Em,” she said, straightening. “That man takes the holidays way too seriously.”

“Thank you,” I said, gratitude flooding my chest. “I really appreciate it.”

I walked a few doors down to Rob’s place. He was taking out the trash and eating a popsicle.

“Don’t tell Maggie,” he said. “She’s been going on about my blood sugar levels again.”

When I asked him the same question, he nodded.

“He was out there, Emily,” Rob said. “I heard him muttering something about ‘view blockers.’ I figured it was about your car. You should hose it down as soon as possible. Eggs are acidic; they’re going to ruin your paint.”

“Would you mind writing that down, Rob? Please.”

“Not at all.”