"You're useless than that thing."
"Fine! No need to insult me!" she huffed.
Helen flared her nostrils and slammed the lid of the trash can that sat between our houses.
The bag of garbage in her hand was leaking a pungent, sour liquid.
Seeing me staring coldly at the mess on the ground, she reluctantly used her slipper to wipe it up haphazardly.
As I waited for the elevator, she didn't go inside her house.
Instead, she sneered, "Wow, someone's in a bad mood today. Did you and your husband have a fight?"
I could understand why she would say that.
In my past life, when her family ran out of food, she came to borrow some from me, and I gave her half a large plastic bag.
When her heater wasn't working, and she complained in the homeowners' group, my husband and I would go over and help bleed the radiators.
She left smelly shoe racks and garbage in front of our door.
I tolerated all of it.
It was natural for her to be surprised by my sudden change in attitude.
It all stemmed from the time I kindly helped her pick up Kaelan.
Who would have thought that after bringing him home, he would sneak off to the reservoir and drown?
She blamed me for not taking him to my house, claiming it led to Kaelan's death.