Undeniable.

Denise spoke quietly.

“It was only six feet.”

I put the wrench down.

“Then you shouldn't have fought so hard to keep it.”

She looked away.

For a moment, I thought she might apologize.

Instead, she said:

“The neighborhood used to respect me.”

I shook my head.

“No, Denise.”

She looked at me.

“The neighborhood used to fear the inconvenience of upsetting you.”

“That isn't respect.”

She didn't answer.

She returned to her house.

Before sunset, she drove away from Maple Glen Estates.

No farewell party.

No speeches.

No applause.

Just a moving truck and an empty driveway.

Orange Flags

The following spring, I restored the side yard.

I reseeded the grass.

I planted native shrubs near the oak.

I installed a simple stone border well inside my property.

I didn't build a fence.

I had considered it.

Part of me wanted something tall and solid.

Something that said:

Never again.

But I changed my mind.

I left the boundary open.

Not unprotected.

Open.

There is a difference.

The survey markers were permanently recorded.

I kept certified copies of my documents.

I knew exactly where my property began.

And so did everyone else.

One afternoon, Mrs. Alvarez stood beside the oak tree.

“It looks peaceful again,” she said.

“It does.”

Paul joked that I should put an orange survey flag in a frame.

Marcus actually did it.

He sent me a small shadow box containing one of the flags.

Underneath it was a brass plate:

EXHIBIT A

I hung it in my garage.

Sometimes I look at it and remember Denise laughing.