The tow trucks arrived before sunrise.
Steel hooks, flashing lights, and the screech of chains tore through the quiet street.
By the time we reached the driveway, both our cars were already lifted,
our protests ignored. And there, across the street, stood Lindsey,
the woman who’d brought cookies… and a warning we never took seriously.
Her smile said everythi… Continues…
We had moved in hoping for a peaceful fresh start, not a lesson in weaponized rule‑keeping.
Lindsey’s sugary kindness now felt like a scouting mission, her “helpful” rundown of HOA policies more like a veiled threat.
Seeing her calmly sip coffee as our cars were taken made it clear this wasn’t an accident; it was a performance, and we were the example.
Retrieving the vehicles cost us money, time, and any illusion that we could simply “mind our own business” here.
The message was unmistakable: in this neighborhood, compliance mattered more than courtesy,
and some people took pleasure in enforcing that. As we drove back,
the house no longer felt like home, just a place under watchful eyes,
where every small choice could become someone else’s opportunity to punish.
