You know sometimes you need to move to a new place so that you could begin a new chapter of your life? Well, that’s what I thought. I was going through a fresh break-up, starting a new job, and had just gotten a dog — Miso.

So, it seemed that everything was lining up perfectly.

But ever since moving into my new home, it felt like I’d inadvertently stepped into a minefield that was expertly hidden beneath the surface of a picture-perfect neighborhood.

It started off fine. I unpacked my boxes and tried to make myself feel at home in the new place.

“It’s going to be good for you,” Connie, my friend, said. She had come over to help me unpack, and now, we sat eating cold pizza and drinking warm beer.

“I hope so,” I said. “I need something different. A change of scenery.”

Connie smiled at me and began to tell me how lucky I was to be living alone, rather than with roommates, like her.

“They are insufferable people,” she said. “You’ll never find our sink clean! And the washing machine always has clothes in it. I don’t know whether they’re clean either.”

She went on and on, making me laugh until I was ready to tackle another box.

“Really, Denis,” she said. “This is good. You’ll learn how to be responsible for yourself. And Miso, too.”

But then as the days went by, things started to get very strange. The first sign was subtle, yet unsettling.

It was routine for me — take out the garbage at night, wait for Miso to do his business while tying the bags up, and then they would be collected. It was seamless.

But one morning, I woke up to my lawn being mysteriously filled with garbage overnight. At first, I thought that it was Miso having gotten into my garbage at some point. But there were things that didn’t come from my home.

I dismissed it as a prank and cleaned up the mess.

“The kids are probably trying to figure out who the middle-aged man is, huh?” I told Miso when we went for a walk.

But then something else happened. A few days later, I woke up to two of my car’s tires punctured.

If kids were pranking me, this was beyond ridiculous — tires were expensive, and I didn’t know how long it was going to go on for.

So, I phoned Connie to ask for her opinion.

“Maybe they’re just trying to figure out who you are,” she said. “But I think you should keep an eye on your neighbors, Denis. If they’ve done it twice, who’s to say that they won’t try it again.”

I agreed with her — as much as I brushed them off as pranks, a part of me was nervous, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing did. I went to work and returned home without anything big happening.

I sat in my office, wondering if I was going to come home to graffiti on my walls. Or broken windows — but for two weeks, all was clear.

In fact, I had started to make friends with my immediate neighbors. They were a young couple, recently married — and vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t figure out where I had seen them before.

Amanda was an art teacher, constantly covered in paint, and Jim was an accountant — they couldn’t have been any more different, but they made it work. After I moved in, Jim was always eager to stop at my gate and chat.

Eventually, Amanda invited me over for dinner, solidifying our blossoming friendship.

Then, the third incident happened.

I awoke one morning to a letter taped onto my front door.

Hello, Denis. Welcome to the neighborhood. You have a lot to answer for.

It was cryptic and confusing. Someone knew that I was here, fine. But instead of confronting me, they had been pranking me?

It made no sense.

That evening, Connie was coming over to meet Amanda and Jim. We were finally doing dinner at my place, and Connie had promised to make her infamous roast chicken.

“With all the trimmings,” she said. “You just focus on the cheesecake for dessert.”

Later when everyone was over and the wine was flowing, I began to get anxious about the letter. It was strange, I admitted that freely. But I couldn’t understand who sent it, and why they had to be so mysterious about it.

If I messed up, I would have owned up to it — or so I hoped I would have.

After a while, I began to feel the wine’s effect and stepped onto the balcony for some fresh air.

Moments later, Amanda joined me, stretching her arms.

“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” she said, smiling.

“It is,” I agreed, watching Miso run around the garden.

“Has anything else happened? Or have your pranksters left you alone?” she asked.

I told her about the letter, the mysterious message, and the unsettling feeling that had overtaken me since reading it.

“Oh, Denis,” she said, inching closer to me. “So you have received all my messages, then? Good.”

I was shocked. Amanda? But I didn’t know her!

“What are you talking about?” I asked, stepping away from her. “Are you kidding me now?”

“Lucy. That’s what it’s about,” she said, crossing her hands.

The world around me seemed to come to a standstill. I heard Connie and Jim laugh inside, and my stomach knotted.

Lucy. I hadn’t heard her name in years. Lucy was my ex-girlfriend.

“What do you know?” I asked Amanda. “How do you know who I am?”

I had a hundred questions for Amanda, but I didn’t know how to get any of them out.

“Lucy is my cousin. I remember you from the pictures she used to post when you were still dating.”

The mention of Lucy’s name shook me to my core. I wasn’t proud of it, but our relationship had ended horribly. I was between jobs at the time, and Lucy had gotten pregnant.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, showing me the pregnancy test. “We’re in it now.”

“I’m not in it,” I said, recoiling as she tried to give me the test.

I had wanted to end our relationship for a long time. There was nothing left in it for me. Lucy and I had been outgrowing each other over the months.

In the end, I asked Lucy to take care of the baby. Because I refused to be stuck in a dead-end relationship, especially because of a baby.

I remember how Lucy’s eyes fell to the Bible on her nightstand. I knew what I knew — that despite me asking her to take care of it, she wouldn’t.

So, I disappeared, not knowing whether Lucy kept the baby or not.

“What do you want from me?” the question came out as a whisper, a plea for some semblance of understanding in the chaos that had become my life.

Amanda’s demand was simple, yet it carried the weight of years of neglect and responsibility that I had turned my back on.

“I want you to take responsibility of your son. He’s five and Lucy is struggling. She could use the financial help.”

The truth that Amanda was the architect behind the series of unsettling events was a wake-up call. Her actions, driven by a desire for justice for her cousin and our son, was a harsh reminder of the consequences of my past actions.

As I stood there, facing the ghost of my past incarnated in the form of my neighbor, I realized the depth of my errors.

Now, there’s a five-year-old boy with half my genes that I had disregarded.

“Come, Denis,” Amanda said. “There’s cheesecake to eat. You can figure out how to pay Lucy back later.”

I had no other choice but to follow her. Feeling the weight of the world with every step.

What was I going to do now?

What would you do in my shoes?