I’m Emily—36, a nurse, a single mom of three: Lily, Max, and toddler tornado Noah. Most days are a relay race between bedtime stories and vitals charts, with a grocery run thrown in for sport. I don’t pick fights. I don’t have time for them. Last night I parked in the only open spot I could find—right in front of Derek’s house. I figured that, like every other time, it would be fine.

Derek lives two doors down and treats holidays like competitive sport. It used to be fun. Then the speakers got louder, the fog thicker, the fireworks closer, and the patience thinner. Halloween is his Super Bowl. Skeletons with glowing eyes. Fog machines. An animatronic reaper that makes even grown men say “nope.”

I followed a trail of eggshells