At my son’s wedding in Seattle, the bride looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Starting tomorrow, you’re no longer part of this family. I’m the boss now—not you.” I smiled, walked away like it didn’t hurt, and canceled the $80,000 I’d promised for their first home—right there at the reception, while the music was still playing.

“Maybe you should go home,” Frank said to Amanda. “Cool down a little bit.”

Amanda stared at him, then at my door.

“This isn’t finished, Helen!” she yelled. “You have no idea what I can do to you!”

Then she left.

But I watched from my window as she sat in her car for 30 minutes, just staring at my house.

When she finally drove away, my hands were shaking.

Frank came over 15 minutes later.

“Do you want me to write a police report?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I’m keeping track of everything.”

I showed him the video from my doorbell camera. It had recorded everything.

“Can you keep a copy of this video,” I asked, “just in case I need it later?”

“Of course,” he said. “Whatever’s happening, be careful. That woman looked really dangerous.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Over the next four days, Amanda called me 23 times. I didn’t answer any of them. She left voice messages that went from sweet—