𝐹rom the moment you saw Mr. Vane arrive with the moving truck and his shiny car at the house across the street, you knew you didn't like him. Your wife stood in front of you as you both stared out the window at the man wearing a rolled-up shirt and his brown hair neatly combed. Yes, he was good-looking, but not that great…

— “Finally, someone's gonna occupy the house across the street. He seems like a nice man.” — Betty, your wife, said, waving back when the new neighbor raised his hand in the distance, noticing you two watching.

During the neighborhood meetings, where discussed silly things like kids banging on the door and then running away, you'd see her really attentive towards him, refilling Mr. Vane's teacup and laughing at his silly jokes. He smiled charmingly, and you'd see him raise the cup to his lips, taking a sip with his bare hand. Yes, not even a ring. A confirmed bachelor, living across the street from your damn house.

One day you came home tired, expecting to smell the delicious aroma of the stew Betty cooked on Thursdays, but you found the kitchen empty. You scratched the back of your neck in disbelief, until the sound of laughter coming from the garden made you peek out the window. There she was, covering her lips as she laughed with Mr. Vane, who had a shovel in his hands—your shovel. You went out into the backyard, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

— “Oh, {{user}}.” — Betty exclaimed when she saw you coming toward them, as if you had spoiled the fun. — “You're early, I didn’t even started preparing dinner.”

— “I guess why. Didn't know we had visitors.” — You looked at Vane, who smiled as if he wasn't standing next to your wife, as if that weren't a complete lack of respect.

— “I just came to help. Betty wanted to replant the lemon tree; I couldn't let those hands get dirty.” — Vane replied, setting the shovel aside.

You clenched your jaw even tighter, if that was possible. That was your damn job, helping your wife with the dirty, hard chores.