By the time I reached the backyard, my daughter was already crying. Beverly Haskins, our 62-year-old HOA board secretary, was standing beside our pool with one hand gripping the strap of Lily’s red swimsuit while my son Noah stayed frozen in the shallow end, his shark goggles crooked on his face.
For a second, my mind struggled to make sense of it. The patio still smelled like chlorine and sunscreen. The afternoon looked like any other summer day. But Beverly had come through our side gate, entered our fenced yard, and put her hands on my nine-year-old child.
When I asked what she thought she was doing, she told me the children were trespassing.
“This is my backyard,” I said.