The Single Mom Who Toyed With Married Men Chapter 02

The Single Mom Who Toyed With Married Men Chapter 02

The message was dripping with passive aggression.

[Just want to say thank you to the new neighbor Mrs. Hayes for helping me with a cockroach tonight. She used a whole lot of bug spray and my son started coughing a little, but I’m still grateful.

I think she might have the wrong idea about me though, and some of the things she said were pretty hurtful… Honestly, raising a child on my own isn’t easy, and if I had any other option, I wouldn’t bother anyone. Sorry for the disturbance so late at night.]

Within thirty seconds, the married men who never said a word in that chat suddenly couldn’t type fast enough.

Apt 302 Harrison Miller [Don’t let it get to you, Chloe. Some people just don’t know how to treat others with basic decency.]

Apt 501 Mitchell Collins [Seriously, we’re all neighbors here. She’s a widow raising a kid alone, she got scared and knocked on a door. Was it really necessary to go off on her like that?]

Apt 604 Gregory Jenkins [Chloe, just post here next time you need help. We’ve got you. Don’t worry about what anybody else thinks.]

I scrolled through the replies and almost laughed. The audacity was actually impressive.

They might as well have tagged me by name and called me a heartless woman.

Nathaniel grabbed his tablet and started typing, ready to fire back, but I put my hand over his.

“Don’t.”

“Fighting her in the group chat is exactly what she wants. It just makes her look more like the victim.” I smiled. “Give it until tomorrow. I’ll handle it.”

The next morning was a Saturday.

I got up early, threw on workout clothes, and went for a run through the shared garden.

I spotted Chloe the second I came around the gazebo. She was sitting on a bench.

She’d traded the nightgown for a long floral dress. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, as she dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eye.

A small crowd had gathered around her: a few older women and two of the neighborhood husbands, all looking outraged on her behalf.

I slowed to a walk and headed over.

“Well, good morning, everybody.” I smiled and dropped into the empty spot on the bench.

The conversation died instantly.

The men who’d been so fired up a second ago suddenly found the trees and the pavement very interesting.

Chloe inched away from me, shoulders pulling in like she was afraid I might bite. “Good morning, Mrs. Hayes.”

“Morning, Ms. Bennett.” I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand, keeping my voice light.

“How’s your son doing? I checked the label on that bug spray. It’s a plant-based formula. Completely safe to use around kids.” I paused. “If he’s still coughing, though, you might want to get him checked. Could be a respiratory thing.”

Chloe’s smile froze for half a second. “He’s fine. He was better by this morning. Thank you for asking, Mrs. Hayes.”

“Glad to hear it.” I nodded, then turned to Harrison from 302, the one who’d had the most to say about me last night.

“Harrison, I hear you’ve been really helpful to Ms. Bennett. So how come when she had a cockroach emergency at midnight, she didn’t knock on your door?”

Harrison’s wife, Martha Miller, stood a few steps away, grocery bags still in hand. Her expression soured the second the words left my mouth.

Harrison went pale. “I… I was asleep! How would I have known?”

“Oh, right. Of course.” I let the words hang with just enough innocence.

“Actually, now that you mention it, I noticed a pair of men’s shoes at Ms. Bennett’s place last night. Size ten. Those wouldn’t happen to be yours, would they, Harrison?”

“I mean, it makes sense. A woman living alone, keeping a big pair of men’s shoes by the door is a smart move. For safety.”

Every woman within earshot locked on like radar.

Chloe shot to her feet. “Mrs. Hayes! You can’t just throw around accusations like that! Those were my late husband’s. I kept them because I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. Is that a crime?”

“Of course not.” I pulled out my phone and opened a photo.

I’d taken it on my way through her apartment the night before.

I zoomed in and shoved the phone in her face.

“Funny thing, though. Your husband died in a car accident three years ago, right?” I tilted the device toward the crowd. “These are Ferragamo. Brand-new fall collection, just came out last month. And they’re the matching pair to the ones on your feet right now. A thousand dollars for both pairs.”

The color drained from her face. I smiled. “That’s devotion, Ms. Bennett. Your husband’s been gone three years and you’re still buying his-and-hers shoes. Truly touching.”