When she woke up, there were 17 voicemails from a stranger.


The sound of her phone buzzing on the nightstand was nothing new. Bill collectors, telemarketers, her niece messenger calling at three in the morning like we don't have kids we not tryna wake up.

(Rubbing eyes) Damn seventeen voicemails tho and from the same number too?


Her (whose name is Janiya) first thought was did somebody die. That was the only time I got calls like that back to back.


She pressed play.


The first message was a heavy breather. The second was a whisper: “Stay away from my man Bitch.”


Janiya sat up straight, and turned the light on the nightstand on, as if that was gonna help her hear better.


Stay away from who, who da fuck is this?


She wasn't dating anyone at the moment. Because at her prime age of 42 her family, her business, and her peace was what she protected.

But she knew how women around the neighborhood could be, paranoid, messy, and quick to start shit over a man not worth fighting for in the first place.


By the fifth message, the whisper turned into a woman’s voice, loud and clear: "Bitch you think you slick. Stay away from my man.”


She froze. She knew that tone. That was the sound of someone needing to watch her back more diligently. Because in her neighborhood, a rumor could spread faster than the rent going up.


Janiya's day started off like it always did, waking up to kids running up and down the street while the city buses stopped frequently on the corner. Somebody’s uncle blasting old-school R&B like it was a concert. But for Janiya, everything felt different.


She didn't have any tattoo clients today so she went to the beauty shop she braided hair at on the weekends. As soon as she walked in conversations stopped as she walked past. A client who usually greeted her with excitement, gave her a head nod today.


She saw her best friend Felicia in the back, scrolling through her phone. “What’s up chic."


Felicia said. “Girl… I didn’t wanna tell you, but… somebody said you creeping with Marcus.”


Janiya looked towards the ceiling in utter confusion and asked Marcus who?


Felicia said, "Marcus the married man who lives across the hall from you."


Janiya exclaimed, oh you mean the one who barely speaks two words to me other than“how you doing”?


"Felicia said one in the same."


I wouldn't even fuck with him, he a downgrade, Janiya said.


Felicia shook her head. “They saying you the reason his wife ain’t been to church the last two Sundays.


Look—” Felicia flipped her phone around, showing a Facebook post from an anonymous page. "Bitches like this make good women like us hard to trust men. Sleeping with married men. God don’t like ugly.


Janiya was pissed, not for the post but because they chose an ugly picture to use. From constant voicemails to now, defamation of my character, I can't wait to find out who did this.


The rest of the week only got worse. Texts from unknown numbers: “It's on site Bitch when I see you.” Notes slipped under her door: “Watch your back.” Someone even keyed the word HOMEWRECKER into the side of her car.


Janiya wanted to punch someone in the face. She wanted to find whoever was behind it and dog walk their ass down the street. But another part of her, the wiser part, told her to stay calm. People who wanted to ruin you thrive on your reaction.


As she settled into her King sized California bed that night, she heard loud banging on her door. She sat upright without moving to see if maybe someone was knocking on the door across the hall. When the banging began again, she jumped up and threw her gym shoes on in case she had to run.

She slowly looked through the peephole to find Marcus’s wife standing in front of her door getting ready to bang on it again.


“Open up!” the woman shouted, her eyes red from crying. “I know you're there!”

She didn't know if she was preparing for a fight when she opened the door just a crack. “Why are you banging on my door at this hour?”


“You think I don’t know?” the wife spat. “Everybody telling me you sleeping with my husband!”


“That’s a lie. And what's crazy is that you believe that mess. Your husband ain’t never been nothing to me but a neighbor.”


The wife hesitated, like her anger wanted to keep burning but the truth was fighting its way in. “Then why everybody saying it?”


“Because misery loves company. Ask yourself why you believe that shit. And who is mostly around him all day.”


For the first time, the wife’s face softened. She left without another word, but the seed of doubt was planted—maybe I wasn’t the enemy after all.


A week later, the truth slipped out the way it always does, at the beauty shop.


Turns out, the woman sending the voicemails was Marcus’s assistant—a woman whose been obsessed with him for years. She was jealous of the wife, jealous of the neighbor because she lived across the hall.


Instead of letting it break her, Janiya chose differently.


She posted her side of the story on social media, not to be messy or defensive, but to make a point:


“Rumors are weapons, but only if you hand them the power. I don’t chase no man. I don't do drama. I only have time for my kids, my peace, and my purpose. If you wanna know about me come ask me.


Not soon after I pressed the submit, my niece was the first to like and comment. Some people admitted they’d believed the rumors too fast, others just posted emojis. Even Marcus’s wife showed up under the post with a simple: “I felt that"


When Janiya woke up that next morning, there were no voicemails. No texts. No threats. Just peace.