Trent was a pariah. His friends abandoned him, realizing that his tough guy persona was a complete fabrication. He spent the rest of the summer hiding inside his house, the heavy bag swinging unused in the yard. As for Harry, the loss of the DoD contract sent his company into a financial tailspin. Investors pulled out, citing erratic leadership and poor judgment. The stress began to fracture his polished exterior. He stopped driving his G Wagon aggressively. He stopped yelling at the delivery drivers.
Two months later, right before the first snow of winter fell in Oak Creek, a massive moving truck parked in front of the Caldwell estate. The for sale sign had gone up quietly a few weeks prior. Harry and Trent packed up their lives and moved away, desperate to escape the silent crushing judgment of a neighborhood that now knew exactly who they were. I stood on my porch holding a mug of black coffee, watching the moving truck rumble down the street and disappear around the corner. The massive oak tree by the property line was finally free of the obnoxious heavy bag. The neighborhood was quiet again. I took a sip of my coffee, turned around, and walked back inside to help Emily with her homework. My days of fighting were behind me, but it was nice to know that the muscle memory was still there when I needed it.
