The final blow came one night after she had gone to bed. She had left a stack of papers on the kitchen counter, only to wake up the next morning and find them neatly piled on the coffee table instead. Stacey’s blood ran cold. Someone had been inside her apartment—while she was asleep, mere steps away.
Her sanctuary was shattered. Every shadow felt ominous, every creak a reminder that her home was no longer truly hers. Stacey could barely breathe as she considered the implications: her landlord was breaking in, his eyes on her space, perhaps even on her. The weight of violation settled in, and fear gave way to rage.