“Everyone here is going to regret this.”
“This neighborhood will become chaos.”
The second cuff clicked.
The little boy looked toward his father.
“Is she going to jail?”
His father answered carefully.
“She’s going with the officers.”
“For stealing?”
“They’ll figure that out.”
The officer did not correct him.
The exact legal consequences would come later.
Statements.
Videos.
Property values.
Intent.
Potential charges.
Nobody on the porch needed to pretend the ending was already decided.
The HOA President stood handcuffed beneath the warm Halloween string lights.
Her beige handbag sat open on the table.
Empty now.
The candy had been divided among its owners.
The officer escorted her toward the patrol vehicle.
Children moved apart to create a path.
She walked between witches, vampires, superheroes, skeletons, and one very confused child dressed as a dinosaur.
Nobody laughed.
That surprised the homeowner.
The scene had become too strange.
Too human.
The HOA President reached the sidewalk.
Then stopped.
She looked back.
Not at the homeowner.
At the orange candy bowl.
Full-size bars had been restored.
The little boy noticed.
The officer guided her forward.
She disappeared toward the patrol car.
For several seconds, the porch remained silent.
Then the little girl in the purple witch costume pointed toward the bowl.
“Can we have candy now?”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Even the Treasurer.
The homeowner wiped his face.
“Yeah.”
He picked up the bowl.
“Everybody gets two.”
The little boy looked inside.
“Full-size?”
The homeowner smiled.
“Especially full-size.”
Children rushed forward.
Within minutes, Halloween resumed.
That seemed impossible.
Then natural.
Children are good at returning to joy when adults stop interfering.
The homeowner stood near the door watching.
The little boy took two chocolate bars.
Then looked toward the patrol car.
“Is she really the president?”
The homeowner nodded.
“For now.”
The boy considered.
“Can presidents get in trouble?”
The homeowner smiled faintly.
“Anybody can.”
The boy nodded as though filing away something important.
Then ran after his sister.
The Treasurer remained.
She looked exhausted.
“I owe you an apology.”
The homeowner shook his head.
“You didn't do it.”
“I should have paid more attention.”
“To what?”
“To her.”
The homeowner looked toward the street.
The patrol car had not left yet.
Officers were still speaking to several families.
The Treasurer continued.
“This didn't start tonight.”
The homeowner turned.
“What do you mean?”
She leaned against the porch railing.
“She has always been controlling.”
“That’s not exactly breaking news.”
“No.”
“I mean worse.”
The homeowner waited.
The Treasurer looked toward the children before lowering her voice.
“Fines.”
“Warnings.”
“Architectural reviews.”
“Selective enforcement.”
“She interprets rules differently depending on who she likes.”
The homeowner frowned.