The first time I noticed the older biker slowing down near my yard, my stomach dropped. As a single mom juggling work, bills, and two kids, my nerves were already stretched thin. Our fence was falling apart — crooked posts, loose boards, gaps big enough for our dog to squeeze through — but repairs were way outside my budget. So when I looked out one morning and saw a stranger inside my yard with tools in his hands, my instincts kicked in hard. I called the police.
