The trap: watching my own house from a café
The officer helped me come up with a plan.
The next day, I packed a small bag and left the house as usual – handbag, keys, the whole routine – as if I were going out for errands.
But instead of going to the store, I crossed the street and sat in a small café with a clear view of my front door.
I set my laptop on the table and pulled up the live camera feeds.
For hours, nothing happened.
I pretended to read, sipped coffee I barely tasted, and watched my own empty living room on the screen.
Just when I was ready to give up and go home, my front door creaked open on the monitor.
There he was. The intruder.
Same black clothes. Same careful movements.
My hands shook as I called the officer directly.
“He’s here,” I whispered. “He’s in my house right now.”
They were already nearby, waiting.
As I watched, the intruder didn’t just move furniture this time. He went deeper.
He opened drawers. Pulled out photo albums. Rifled through my documents.
Then he walked into my bedroom on camera, opened my closet, and picked up one of my late husband’s old sweaters.
He held it against his chest… then dropped it on the floor like trash.
It felt personal. Like he wanted me to know I wasn’t safe anywhere in my own home.
Continue reading on the next page 👇
