She moved the car.
Again.
Another penalty followed.
And then something unexpected happened.
Her husband came over that evening.
His name was Paul.
I’d seen him plenty of times but barely spoken to him.
He looked mortified.
“I owe you an apology.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“The parking.”
“You’re not the one doing it.”
“I knew.”
That changed things.
“You knew she was blocking us?”
“Not how often.”
“Did you know we asked her to stop?”
He nodded.
I stared at him.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Denise gets… fixed on things.”
“That is a very generous phrase.”
He gave a tired smile.
“She didn’t want to use our driveway because I leave for work at 5:30 and she said moving her car around mine was annoying.”
“So she used ours.”
“Yes.”
“Paul, you have roadside parking.”
“I know.”
“Two spaces.”
“I know.”
