Romans & histoires My Neighbors Wife Book

In silence, the graceful woman wiped her cheeks. Doni sympathizes with Kumara. Wanted to persuade Kumara, but the wife immediately left. Doni then looked back at Alif. "Maybe you saw it wrong earlier. Some neighbors also like to say strange things like you. Whatever it is, please don't say it in front of my wife. It's a shame that she's already stressed with all kinds of things from the residents here." Doni looked at Alif seriously. "Oh God, I feel bad for you. But I'm not lying, I'm not talking like the people you said earlier." Alif is confused.

Because it’s not my wife I’m staring at. It’s my wife’s neice.

The more attention she attracts, the more it feeds my desire to see her with one of them. We live in a suburban community outside of a major southern California city and our neighbor Frank, who was in his early 50's recently lost his wife Sandy to a sudden health struggle. We weren't really close with them because of the age difference but they were a really nice couple, always willing to help a neighbor, lend me a needed tool or maybe even share a beer or two at times. We felt really bad for Frank as you could tell he loved Sandy deeply and was hurting after her death, maybe even depressed.

Cassandra, I wanted to tell her how terrified I was while she acted as if everything was fine. A sprained and bruised foot… that was far from fine. She truly didn’t understand how dangerous the situation could have been for her. I thought about it over and over again from my house next door. Yes, now we are neighbors, all because I wanted to stay close to her. I went to her house immediately, and together with Miles, we cooked porridge for Cassandra. Everything went very well, with her finishing the porridge completely. Unbeknownst to her, I was now watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful, despite having faced so many storms.

Standing in front of me were my neighbors from across the hall. The face of Vera Morri, an old woman, twisted into a horrifying scowl as she planted her hands on her hips and shrieked. “You wretched girl! How dare you try to kill my precious grandson! Let me tell you something, if anything happens to him, I’ll kill you!”

I wondered who it was she had been expecting when she knocked on the door of a neighbor she didn't know. "I thought a single lady with three boys lived here." She said after clearing her throat. "She is the one I used to see walking out of this place." Oh! I found it fascinating that our neighbors was watching us or it was possible that she was the only one doing that. Every street has their own busybody who kept their lives going on by monitoring that of others. I wasn't surprised that a person like this was also in the human world. I smiled as I realized that she was still waiting for my response. "That is my wife and there is nothing single about her."

Then, she said, clearly and evenly, with absolutely no tremor in her voice, "I'm Neo McKinney's wife. That's what I am. Everything else is my private business, and I ask that you respect it." She got in the car. Curtis drove away. She stared straight ahead all the way home. She didn't tell Neo. He was in his study when she got home-calls and documents and that quiet, humming power of McKinney Industries that never really switched off-and she went to the library, sat in her big armchair with a book open on her lap and found that after rereading the same paragraph six times, she had to admit that reading wasn't going to happen tonight.

It was softly said, with a sexual tone. I was brushing my teeth, watching her from inside the bathroom door. I had no view of the window, or Bob. She slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him. "Well Tim." she said. "Our neighbor is flashing his big piece of meat at your wife again." She chuckled, absurdly. I almost dropped my brush, and spoke with a mouth full of toothpaste, "You're joking."

~~Kent~~ I’ve been in love with my neighbor’s wife. No—not just in love. Obsessed. Consumed. It’s only been two weeks since they moved into the house across from mine in Willow Creek, our quiet little town where nobody new ever shows up. People here grow old in the same house they were born in. Strangers don’t just move in. But when I saw her step out of that car, when I caught that first glimpse of her face, I knew.

And everything would have been swell, if not for one thing. The poor guy had gotten a bad neighbor. A few months ago, when, by sheer chance, he had been away—his wife had had a difficult pregnancy and he had wanted to find her a good healer. Upon his return, he found only smoldering ruins. His neighbor had decided that he deserved the honey business more than some puny baron, and attacked his estate.