I felt like I was being a good neighbor when Nate, who had moved in next door a few weeks earlier, knocked on my door at two in the morning. He claimed that a pipe had burst and he needed a place to stay. I let him in even though it didn’t feel right.
The next morning, I learned of Nate’s deception. His supposedly flooded house was in good shape, and he was with Vanessa, a woman who was married to a Navy sailor. I was enraged because I felt like a tool and a participant in their affair.
I had to make up another tale to protect Vanessa and Nate when Ryan arrived at my house, wondering where his wife had disappeared. I felt bad for getting caught up in their web of deceit. I promised Nate that I would remain silent if he split up with Vanessa in return for $500.
After Nate left, I realized that I was a wreck. I had deceived an innocent person and blackmailed one. The quiet suburban area seemed to be rife with secrets and falsehoods. My mental well-being has suffered as a result of my attempt to be a pleasant neighbor.
“I felt hopeless. I had run out of options,” Nate said. “You won’t see me again,” he promised as he left my house for the last time. I hoped so, for the benefit of both of us.
