Everything Seemed Perfect After the Move Until a Note Inside My Neighbor’s ‘Welcome Pie’ Turned My Blood Cold — Story of the Day

I moved to a peaceful suburb to start over, but when I cut into my neighbor’s welcome pie and found a hidden note inside, I knew the past I’d been running from had finally caught up with me.

When the movers finally drove off and the street fell silent, I stood at the top of the driveway, breathing in the stillness. Fifty-eight. Divorced. Starting over. Again.

This time, I promised myself not to repeat old mistakes. A new chapter had officially begun.

I glanced at the narrow parking strip between my house and the one next door. The realtor had said it was mine. So I maneuvered my car forward, straightened the wheels, and parked right there.

“Hello there!” a cheerful voice called out.

I turned. A woman in lemon-yellow flats was leaning casually against the fence, holding a watering can. She looked like someone who never left the house without lip gloss.

“New neighbor?” she asked, smiling.

“Guilty,” I said. “Alicia.”

“Jocelyn,” she replied, setting the watering can down and walking closer. “Welcome to the neighborhood. You’ll love it here.”

“I hope so. I need a fresh start.”

“Well, you’ve picked the perfect place. We have block brunches on Saturdays, and everyone helps everyone. It’s very… harmonious.”

I smiled politely, unsure how harmonious I wanted my life to be. Jocelyn's gaze drifted past me, straight to my car.

“Oh! I see you’ve parked there.”

“Yes. It’s convenient. Close to the door.”

“Of course. It’s just… well, I usually park there. Been doing it for years.”

“I was told it came with my property.”

“I’ve always parked there — it’s just easier with groceries and all.”

“But you already have a driveway,” I said calmly.

“I do. But the sun hits this one differently. Keeps the leather from cracking.”

“Then maybe it’s time to invest in better leather.”

There was a tiny pause, and then Jocelyn laughed. “You’re funny. I like that. Of course, it’s your spot. Anyway, I’ll drop by tomorrow with a little housewarming gift. It’s a thing we do here.”

“Sounds nice.”

Jocelyn gave a small wave and turned toward her garden. I watched her walk away, the smile never leaving her face until she was out of sight. My own faded as soon as she was gone.

I glanced at my car, perfectly parked where it was supposed to be, and felt an old, familiar instinct stir.

Boundaries. Test them early, people said.

But as I turned toward the house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the first line I’d have to defend. That Jocelyn had no intention of stopping there.

***

The following morning, I woke up earlier than usual. By ten, I’d unpacked a few more boxes and brewed my fourth cup of coffee. That was the kind of morning I had dreamed about during the long, bitter months of the divorce.

And yet my stomach felt tight, as if I was waiting for something. Right on cue, a soft knock rattled the door.

When I opened it, there she was — Jocelyn, radiant in a pale pink dress, holding a pie dish with a perfectly latticed crust. The smell of cinnamon and pumpkin drifted toward me.

“Good morning, neighbor! I promised you a proper welcome.”

“That’s… very kind of you,” I said, taking the warm pie carefully. “You didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense! We take hospitality seriously on this street.”

“Must be nice. Would you like to come in for coffee?”

“Oh, I wish I could. I have a Zoom call in ten minutes. But please, do cut into it while it’s still warm. There’s something special inside.”

“Special?”

“Just a little note from your new friend. Enjoy.”

And with that, Jocelyn turned and glided down my porch steps. I closed the door, staring down at the pie in my hands. Something about the way she’d said “special” made my chest tighten.

Of course, I grabbed a knife immediately and cut into the golden crust. The blade slid through layers of fruit and steam until it hit something soft. Paper.

I carefully lifted it out — a small, folded note wrapped neatly in plastic to keep it dry. My fingers hesitated before unfolding it. And when I did, the world tilted slightly beneath my feet.

One word. That was all. A name.

The mug slipped from my hand and hit the floor, shattering into porcelain shards.

No one there knew my secret.

I’d been careful — new city, new phone number, no social media. I hadn’t told a soul. So how did she—? Before I could think, I was already moving, pushing open the front door so hard it slammed against the wall.

“Jocelyn!”

She hadn’t gone far. In fact, she was only a few steps down the path, standing by my flower bed and pretending to admire the hydrangeas. As if she knew I’d come after her.

She turned at the sound of my voice, her smile blooming like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb into my kitchen.

“Oh! There you are. I was just saying to myself how lovely these look.”

“Cut the act! How do you know this name?”

“I see you found my little surprise. I hoped you would.”

“Answer me. Where did you get this?”

“It’s amazing what you can learn if you pay attention. And I always pay attention, Alicia.”

A cold wave ran through me.

“Now,” she continued, “about that parking space. It really is more convenient for me. I think we’d both be happier if I used it.”

“And if I say no?”

“Well, people do talk. And people from the past… sometimes they find things out. Addresses, for example.”

I stared at her, deep-buried fear rooting me to the spot.

“Good talk,” Jocelyn said brightly, stepping back toward her yard. “I’ll start parking there tomorrow. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I had run to escape that one person.

But at that moment, somehow, the past was already waiting on my front porch.

***

Over the next two weeks, Jocelyn’s demands grew like weeds: slow at first, then choking everything they touched. It started with the parking space. Then came the next “favor.”

“Alicia, would you mind giving my fence a fresh coat of paint? I’d do it myself, but my wrists are so sensitive.”

I did. Finally, it followed with, “I’m hosting a small get-together for my girlfriends. It would mean so much if you helped serve it in your pretty garden.”

And there I was, Saturday evening, carrying trays of bruschetta and lemonade into my perfectly curated backyard. Meanwhile, a group of women in linen dresses sipped and laughed under string lights.

“Oh, Alicia, be a darling and bring more napkins,” Jocelyn called.

I swallowed my pride and did it. Again and again.

“More ice, please.”

“Oh, and clean that up — someone spilled it.”

They barely looked at me. Jocelyn, meanwhile, floated among the women, glowing under their admiration.

“Honestly,” she said, loud enough for the whole garden to hear, “I don’t know how I ever managed without Alicia. She’s always ready to run around and fix things the moment I ask, aren’t you, dear?”

“I guess we all have our roles,” I said lightly, though my hands trembled.

I turned away before they could see the look on my face.

Later, in the kitchen, I could hear the laughter drift through the open window. I wasn’t trying to listen, but their voices carried easily over the music.

“I could use a little servant now around my house,” Jocelyn was saying, her tone syrupy and triumphant. “I don’t need to worry about a thing anymore.”

I stared at the pile of dirty plates and felt something old and angry stir deep inside. The same helpless fury I’d promised I’d never feel again. Enough.

I wiped my hands on a towel and glanced out the window. They were still outside, leaning back in their chairs, completely absorbed in their little circle of power and privilege.

None of them was watching the door. I slipped off my apron and crossed the living room, tiptoed across the yard straight to Jocelyn's house.

I needed something I could use to protect my new life from the past I thought I’d left behind.

***

I slipped through the side gate like a thief, though nothing I was doing felt like stealing. The sound of laughter drifted from my garden. They were mixing new cocktails. Good. That meant I had time.

The back door of Jocelyn’s house wasn’t locked. I stepped inside.

Everything was perfectly in place. I moved quickly but carefully, pulling open drawers, scanning surfaces, checking the mail left on a narrow console table.

Bills. Flyers. Nothing.

In the hallway, a small cabinet. Inside — keys, loose change, receipts. Still nothing.

Then, in the corner of the living room, a small oak desk. I opened the top drawer. Blank stationery.

The second — bills, warranty papers.

The third — my breath caught.

A stack of envelopes tied with a thin ribbon. And on top, a postcard. I knew it before I even read the words. The handwriting, the slanted letters, the small, deliberate curve in the capital “T.”

“You think you can disappear? You can’t. I’ll find you, Alicia. I always do. Love, Robert.”

I’d torn that postcard in half once. Yet there it was, tucked into my neighbor’s desk.

I sank into her leather chair.

Jocelyn hadn’t known anything. She’d just found the card (probably when it fell out of a box during the move) and decided to use it. A guess. A cruel, clever guess.

All that time, I’d been terrified: of her, of what she might know, of what she might say. Meanwhile, she knew nothing.

The fear that had been wrapped around my chest for weeks began to loosen. In its place, something colder took root. Something deliberate.

I placed the postcard back exactly as I’d found it.

Then my eyes fell on a small silver key on the desk — the keychain engraved with her initials. I turned it over in my palm and smiled.

***

Five minutes later, her car was parked neatly on the next street over, tucked behind a row of hydrangeas where she’d never think to look. Sweet revenge.

By the time I slipped back into my kitchen, the party was still going strong. I smoothed my hair and walked out into the garden.

“Ladies! I think the party’s over.”

The laughter died instantly. Jocelyn turned, startled.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m done.”

“Alicia, maybe you should—”

“No! You should. You should tell them the truth — how you waved a piece of my past in my face without knowing what it really meant.”

The garden went still. A couple of women exchanged looks, but no one spoke. My throat was dry, but the words were finally ready to come out.

“You want to know the truth?” I asked, turning to all of them now. “That name in the pie — the one your friend Jocelyn used to blackmail me — belongs to my ex-husband. A man who made my life hell for fifteen years. A man who still sends threats, even after the restraining order. The kind of man who would ignore the law and find me if he ever discovered where I am.”

Someone gasped softly. Jocelyn’s mouth parted, but I didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“I came here because I wanted to start over, to breathe again without looking over my shoulder. And because I’m trying… I’m trying to have a child. To build a life that isn’t poisoned by fear. That’s all I wanted — quiet mornings, a garden, a safe place to become a mother.”

A murmur rippled through the group. At that moment, Jocelyn looked small. She glanced at the women around her, searching for support, but found only cold stares and folded arms.

“Jocelyn…” one of them said quietly, “that’s… that’s not okay.”

“Who does that?” another muttered. “That’s cruel.”

And just like that, the space around her shifted. The polite laughter, the eager smiles — gone. One by one, friends stepped away from her, murmuring short, awkward goodbyes as they passed me.

“I’m so sorry,” one woman whispered, touching my arm gently before she left.

“None of us knew,” said another. “I hope you find peace here.”

Jocelyn stood frozen in the middle of the yard. “I… I didn’t know,” she stammered, but no one was listening anymore.

I walked toward the house and closed the door behind me. The silence that filled the garden was different now.

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This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to info@amomama.com.