I forced down the fury bubbling inside me and responded with a cold laugh. "Sure, thanks, Martha."

Hearing that, Martha couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. "Don't mention it. I'll be waiting for you."

After hanging up, I headed straight home.

...

The hallway on the first floor of our apartment building was always cluttered with piles of garbage and junk, all thanks to Martha Allen. In the sweltering summer heat, the stench was particularly overwhelming.

As usual, the hallway was filled with the voices of several women complaining loudly. This had been a constant issue, with many tenants having complained to my mom, asking her to do something about it. As the landlord, my mom was at a loss. Every time she tried to talk to Martha about it, Martha would shrug it off.

"There's nothing wrong with the smell. I live on the first floor, too, and I don't notice anything. These women just look down on me because I collect junk. They're trying to force me out, but you're too kind-hearted to let them bully me, aren't you, Mrs. Shields?"

After multiple failed attempts to reason with her, my mom ran out of ideas. She ended up asking the tenants to bear with it and even reduced their rent to keep the peace. However, this lack of action only emboldened Martha, making her even more arrogant and overbearing. It also caused the tenants to grow increasingly frustrated with my mom.

In the past, whenever I overheard them gossiping about my mom, I'd get angry and argue with them. But now, as I listened to their voices, a brilliant plan began to form in my mind.

"Hey, ladies, what's the topic today?"

As I approached, the group of women immediately fell silent, though their expressions remained skeptical.

"What's this about? Come to start another argument? We didn't even mention your mom today," one of them scoffed.

I smiled. "No, you've got it all wrong. I'm not here to argue. I actually wanted to discuss how we can finally deal with all this garbage piling up in the hallway."

The women exchanged surprised looks.

"Haven't you always been close with Martha Allen? Your mom gives her all sorts of food. Why are you suddenly on our side?" Mrs. Rogers asked, her voice laced with distrust.

I sighed and shook my head. "It's not like that. My mom would love to resolve this issue, but she's too soft-hearted to handle someone as difficult as Martha. We need everyone's help to sort this out.

"I was wrong to argue with you all before, and I'm sorry for that." I bowed deeply to show my sincerity.

Seeing my genuine attitude, the women's expressions softened. Mrs. Clark was the first to step forward, speaking earnestly. "Juliana, I don't want to sound harsh, but Martha Allen is nothing but trouble. Everyone knows how much your family has helped her, but you don't know what she says about you behind your back. You can't trust someone like that."

Mrs. Price, a tall and thin woman, chimed in, "Exactly. We've never blamed your mom. We just can't stand Martha. You've been too good to her, but she doesn't appreciate it. People like that are best kept at a distance."

"That's right, that's right," the others echoed, growing more indignant by the second.

I felt a wave of emotion. If only my mom and I had seen Martha's true colors earlier, we wouldn't have ended up the way we did.

Clenching my fists, I said, "I appreciate your advice. That's why I'm here—to ask you all to join me in confronting her. Today, we're going to make sure she clears out all that junk!"

The women were quick to agree.

"Absolutely, I've wanted to do this for a long time," Mrs. Clark said, rolling up her sleeves while the others nodded in support.

With that, I led a group of determined women as we marched toward Martha Allen's unit.

Just like in my previous life, I used the spare key to Martha's apartment and unlocked the door. The living room was empty, and the group of women walked in without hesitation. I stayed at the back, quietly closing the door behind us.

One of the women called out tentatively toward the bedroom, "Anyone home?"

Suddenly, there was a commotion from inside the bedroom, and everyone quickly gathered at the door. Just as Mrs. Clark was about to knock, the door burst open.

There stood Joe, Martha's mentally disabled son, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of red boxers, drooling as he leered at us. "Heh heh, my wife… my wife is here…"

Seeing this, a wave of disgust washed over me, sending a cold shiver down my spine. I instinctively took a few steps back.

"Oh my, why didn't Joe put his clothes on before coming out?" Mrs. Clark frowned while the others awkwardly covered their eyes.

Joe looked confused, his eyes darting between the women in the room, clearly unsure which one his mother had promised him as a wife.

"Joe, where's your mom?" Mrs. Clark asked, stepping forward.

Joe just giggled, lunging at Mrs. Clark, wrapping his arms around her, and slurring, "Wife… wife, you finally came!"

Then he leaned in to kiss her.

"Hey! Let me go!" Mrs. Clark gasped, utterly shocked that she, a middle-aged woman, would find herself in such a situation. Furious and embarrassed, she grabbed a handful of Joe's hair and kicked him to the ground.

It was as if someone had trained him; despite being knocked down, Joe immediately scrambled back up and lunged at her again. "You can't leave! Stay! Be my wife!"

"You think you can get away with this? You're dead!" Mrs. Clark was a stout woman, used to hard work and not lacking in strength. She slapped Joe so hard he was momentarily dazed.

The others were stunned for a second, but as soon as they realized what was happening, they were outraged and rushed in to help. Joe refused to let go, clinging to Mrs. Clark and trying to make his move. But after a thorough beating that left him bruised and battered, he finally let go and crawled back toward the bedroom, crying out, "Mom! Mom, help me!"

"Let's tie him up and take him to the police station!" someone shouted.

The room was chaotic, and no one noticed the faint movement under the bed, where a shadow lurked, waiting.

The wicked received their due punishment, and my mother and I moved toward a happier future.