Neighbors began noticing soon. Mrs. Hargrove from next door asked him why “the older couple” always waved from Marco’s balcony. “They seem delightful,” she said, smiling. Marco muttered about family helping out. Inside, his aunt adjusted the drapes. It seemed reputation was slowly rewriting possession, brick by brick, smile by smile.
Marco attempted to guilt-trip them. “This isn’t fair. I trusted you.” His aunt’s voice softened, syrupy: “Exactly, dear, you trust us. Why break that now?” His uncle added, “Paperwork is messy. Let’s settle things civilly.” Their civility dripped like varnish, covering theft with politeness. Marco’s throat ached from unscreamed words.