My Divorced Neighbor Told Me She Was Going to Steal My Husband, So I Humiliated Her at a Barbecue—Then She Found a Way to Shut Down My Bakery

He shrugged.

“It took me ten minutes.”

That was Derek’s standard explanation.

It only took ten minutes.

But he never counted how often those ten minutes were happening.

Or why Vanessa requested them almost exclusively when he was home.

The first unmistakable incident occurred during a Saturday afternoon.

I’d brought Vanessa a casserole after she complained about having nothing prepared for dinner.