I blinked at it, frozen. For a second, I honestly thought I might still be dreaming. But then my eyes followed the trail — bits of broken eggshells scattered like breadcrumbs — leading directly from Derek’s driveway.
“Of course,” I muttered.
I turned on my heel, told the kids to stay at the table, and marched outside. I didn’t bother changing out of my slippers. I didn’t even bother tying my hair back.
I banged on Derek’s door harder than I intended.
He opened it like he was expecting me — wearing an orange hoodie that was supposed to be pumpkin. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of blinking skull lights and that godawful animatronic reaper on his porch.
“Derek,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Did you seriously egg my car?”
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.
