Oliver and I had been married for seven years, and until then, I would’ve called us happy.
We had a two-year-old daughter, Daisy, a comfortable home, and the kind of marriage where I thought we told each other everything.
The only person who ever made me uneasy lived right across from us.
Charlotte was twenty-nine, always in black, with heavy eyeliner, silver piercings, and tattooed arms. She rarely spoke to anyone.
I’ll admit it – I was a little afraid of her.
I would’ve called us happy.
Oliver disliked her even more.
“She gives me the creeps,” he once said.
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