At 52, I thought I’d seen it all when it came to women trying to break up marriages. But I was wrong. My new neighbor, a freshly divorced young woman named Amber, tried to make my husband her next conquest. So, I decided to teach her exactly why trying to flirt with a married man is a terrible idea.
It all started three months ago when a moving truck arrived next door, unloading what I quickly realized was a walking disaster in heels. Amber, just 25, blonde, and recently divorced, moved into the house she hadn’t paid for, and her attitude made it clear that she thought my husband might be next in line.
The whole neighborhood knew her history. She’d been married to Mr. Patterson, a 73-year-old man, and when he couldn’t keep up with her “needs,” she left with half of his assets.
I watched her from my kitchen window as she directed movers, wearing workout clothes that looked more appropriate for the gym than for an early morning on the front lawn.
“Andy, come look at our new neighbor!” I called to my husband.
He walked over, coffee mug in hand, and nearly choked when he saw her. “Well, she’s… young.”
“She’s trouble,” I crossed my arms. “Mark my words.”
Andy chuckled and kissed my cheek. “Debbie, not everyone is out to get us. Maybe she just wants to fit in.”
“Oh, she wants to fit in, alright… right between you and our marriage vows.”
“Deb..?”
“Just kidding!”
The next morning, playing the part of the good neighbor, I baked a batch of blueberry muffins and walked them over to Amber’s house. She opened the door, wearing a silk robe that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Oh my gosh, how sweet!” she said, clutching the muffin basket like it was a treasure. “You must be Debbie! Andy told me all about you.”
I smiled tightly. “Did he? When exactly did you two find the time to chat?”
“Yesterday when I was getting my mail. He was watering your roses.” She leaned against the doorframe with that unsettling smile. “Such a gentleman. You’re so lucky to have a man who takes care of things.”
“Yes, he takes very good care of what’s HIS!” I replied, letting the emphasis on “his” sink in.
Amber giggled like I had just told the funniest joke. “Well, if you ever need anything… anything at all… I’m right here!”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Within the week, Amber’s “innocent” behavior turned into full-on flirtation. Every morning, she appeared at the fence just as Andy was leaving for work, waving and complimenting him like she was auditioning for a role in a romantic comedy.
“Morning, Andy! Love that shirt!”
“Your lawn looks amazing! You must work out!”
“Could you help me with this heavy box sometime? I’m so weak!”
I watched it all from behind my curtains, my blood pressure rising with each passing day.
By Thursday, I had had enough. As Amber waved at Andy from her fence, I marched outside.
“Morning, Amber! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She straightened up, clearly annoyed by my interruption. “Oh, hi Debbie. Yes, it’s gorgeous.”
“Andy, honey, don’t forget we have dinner with my mother tonight,” I said loudly, slipping my arm through his.
Before Amber could interrupt, she said, “Actually, I was hoping Andy could help me move my couch this weekend. It’s so heavy, and I don’t know any other strong men around here.”
I smiled sweetly. “I’m sure the moving company has a number you can call. They specialize in heavy lifting.”
Andy, looking uncomfortable, quickly excused himself. “I better get to work. See you later, honey.”
Amber’s smile faltered as Andy hurried away. “You’re so protective of him.”
“Thirty years of marriage will do that to a woman!” I called after her.
The following week, Amber took her game up a notch. She started jogging past our house every evening, always when Andy was working in the yard, dressed in outfits that were more for a date than a run. She would stop at the fence, panting dramatically, asking Andy for water, as if she were in the middle of a desert.
“This heat is killing me!” she would gasp. “Andy, do you have any cold water?”
Andy, bless his heart, handed her his water bottle. “Here, take mine.”
Amber pressed it to her chest like it was a precious gift. “You’re such a lifesaver. Literally!”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked onto the porch with the garden hose. “Amber, honey, if you’re that hot, I’d be happy to cool you down!”
She jumped back as if I were holding a snake. “Oh, that’s okay! I should get back to my run.”
Two weeks later, Amber played her trump card. It was Friday night, and Andy and I were about to watch a movie when someone pounded on the door like their life depended on it.
Andy jumped up. “Who could that be at this hour?”
Through the peephole, I saw Amber in a bathrobe, looking flustered.
“Andy! Thank God you’re home!” she cried as he opened the door. “I think a pipe burst in my bathroom! There’s water everywhere! I don’t know what to do! Could you help me?”
Before Andy could even think, his protective instincts kicked in. “Of course, let me grab my toolbox.”
“I’ll come too,” I said, grabbing my jacket.
“No, honey, you don’t need to—”
But before Andy could finish, Amber let out another dramatic, breathless “Oh my God! My bathroom is flooding! Hurry, Andy… hurry!”
And like a superhero, Andy raced across the lawn with his toolbox in hand. I followed, determined to catch whatever was about to unfold.
Amber led Andy into her house with a bathrobe barely hanging on. I didn’t bother knocking. I just walked straight in through the half-open door.
I followed them down the hallway and reached the bathroom just in time to see Amber open the door… revealing not a burst pipe, but a romantic setup straight out of a movie. Rose petals, candlelight, soft jazz in the background… and Amber, standing there in nothing but lace lingerie and high heels.
Andy’s feet stopped cold. So did his brain.
“AMBER?? What the hell is this?” he shouted.
Amber just smiled, as though this was all part of the plan. “Surprise!”
Andy stepped back, horrified. “Are you out of your mind? I’m a married man.”
She reached for his arm. “Andy, wait—”
“Don’t!” He yanked his arm away, backing up. “This is insane.”
I turned around and walked out without saying a word. Tears welled in my eyes, but it was a mix of relief and pride. My husband had passed the test with flying colors. Loyal, if not the sharpest tool in the shed.
And Amber? She was about to learn the hard way.
That night, I put my plan into motion. I borrowed Andy’s second phone and texted Amber, pretending to be Andy, with a message that would turn her evening upside down.
The next evening, I had a group of friends ready for action: women who had lived through more than their fair share of life’s battles. As expected, Amber showed up at 8 PM, expecting to meet Andy.
When she opened the door, instead of finding a quiet house, she was greeted by 15 pairs of eyes. Our living room lit up like a stage, and Amber froze.
I wasn’t about to scream at her; instead, the women took turns explaining exactly how wrong she was. They tore into her, pointing out how she had targeted a married man and disrespected a 30-year marriage.
Amber tried to make a run for it, but Susan, our retired cop neighbor, had already positioned herself by the door.
The lecture continued for a good 20 minutes, and by the end, Amber was practically crawling out of the house, humiliated.
The next morning, Andy asked me how book club went.
“Educational,” I replied with a smile. “We discussed consequences.”
A few days later, a “For Sale” sign appeared in Amber’s front yard. She was gone without a word or even a passive-aggressive cookie.
“Wonder why she left so suddenly?” Andy mused.
I sipped my coffee, watching her house disappear from view. “Maybe this just wasn’t her happy place after all!”
A few weeks later, new neighbors moved in. The Johnsons, a lovely older couple, with their grown children visiting every Sunday.
“Much better view,” Andy commented.
“Much better everything!” I agreed.
Here’s the thing about women like me: we’ve survived long enough to know how to protect what’s ours. We may not be as young, but we’re wiser. And any 25-year-old who thinks she can waltz in and take what’s ours is in for a rude awakening.