CHAPTER 2 The Woman Outside My Door
I didn't breathe.
Not because I was trying to stay quiet.
Because my body had forgotten how.
The woman outside my apartment door spoke again, her voice warm enough to belong in a holiday commercial.
"Caitlyn? I know you're home."
Silence.
Then another gentle knock.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"You used to love surprises."
No.
I used to pretend I loved surprises because saying otherwise always ended badly.
I stared at the deadbolt.
The counselor's words flashed through my mind.
Abusers often escalate when they lose control.
My apartment suddenly felt much smaller.
I reached into my backpack without taking my eyes off the door.
The prepaid phone.
Still hidden from almost everyone.
My thumb hovered over Maya's number.
Before I could press call...
The woman outside laughed.
Not loudly.
Softly.
Like she had just remembered something funny.
"I know you're scared."
"I'd be scared too if I'd told so many lies."
That voice.
It wasn't my mother's.
But it knew my mother's script.
Every sentence carried the same poison wrapped in kindness.
I stepped backward as quietly as possible.
The floor creaked.
Outside...
Nothing.
No knocking.
No voice.
Only silence.
Then my phone vibrated.
Maya.
I answered in a whisper.
"Don't talk," she said immediately.
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"I think someone followed me home from campus."
I pressed myself against the kitchen counter.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"They've driven past my house three times."
"Same gray SUV."
My blood turned cold.
Gray.
Jessica had driven a gray SUV ever since college.
No.
Thousands of people owned gray SUVs.
Don't jump to conclusions.
That's what the counselor had said.
Trauma fills in missing pieces.
Facts first.
Fear later.
"Lock your doors," I whispered.
"They already are."
"I'm calling campus security."
"No."
Maya sounded terrified.
"If this is your family..."
"They'll know I called."
I closed my eyes.
She was right.
My mother never shouted first.
She observed.
Collected information.
Found weak spots.
Then struck.
The hallway outside my apartment remained quiet.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Finally...
I peeked through the peephole.
Empty.
No woman.
No package.
Nothing.
Except...
A tiny white envelope lying against my welcome mat.
My heart hammered.
Don't open the door.
Don't touch it.
Call someone.
Instead...
I grabbed the longest kitchen knife I owned.
Which wasn't saying much.
It was barely sharp enough to cut tomatoes.
I unlocked the door.
Opened it three inches.
Snatched the envelope.
Locked everything again in less than two seconds.
There was only one sentence inside.
YOU ALWAYS OPEN THE DOOR EVENTUALLY.
No signature.
No stamp.
No fingerprints that I could see.
Only those six words.
I read them over and over.
Then something occurred to me.
Whoever left this...
Had watched me.
They knew exactly how long I'd waited.
Campus security took the report seriously.
An officer named Daniel arrived within thirty minutes.
He looked barely older than graduate students.
"You did the right thing calling."
I handed him the envelope.
He slipped on gloves.
"No return address."
"No prints visible."
"Have you had problems with stalking before?"
I hesitated.
How could I explain twenty years in one sentence?
"My mother doesn't like boundaries."
He looked up.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she thinks they're optional."
Daniel listened.
Really listened.
When I finished, he frowned.
"You ever filed a police report?"
"No."
"Restraining order?"
"No."
"Documented threats?"
I opened my backpack.
Pulled out the notebook I'd carried since I was seventeen.
Every insult.
Every punishment.
Every date I could remember.
His eyebrows lifted.
"You wrote all this?"
"I needed proof."
He flipped through pages.
Hundreds of entries.
Different ink.
Different years.
The notebook had become my memory when I stopped trusting my own.
"You've been documenting this for a long time."
"I knew no one would believe me otherwise."
Before leaving, Daniel handed me his card.
"If anything happens..."
"I mean anything."
"You call."
Not campus dispatch.
Not the front desk.
Me.
I nodded.
It felt strange accepting help.
Growing up, help always came with conditions.
The next morning...
Everything exploded.
My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
Unknown numbers.
Voicemails.
Texts.
One message caught my eye.
Please contact Student Affairs immediately regarding concerns raised about your well-being.
My stomach dropped.
I hurried across campus.
The secretary greeted me kindly.
"The dean will see you now."
Inside...
Three people waited.
The dean.
A counselor I had never met.
And campus police.
The dean folded her hands.
"We received an anonymous report."
I knew.
Before she finished.
I already knew.
"They're concerned you're experiencing severe psychological distress."
"They?"
"They wished to remain anonymous."
Of course.
Anonymous.
The perfect weapon.
The dean continued.
"They reported hallucinations."
"Paranoia."
"Violent tendencies."
Every accusation sounded familiar.
I had heard them my entire childhood.
Different rooms.
Different audiences.
Same script.
The counselor leaned forward gently.
"Caitlyn..."
"Do you feel people are following you?"
I almost laughed.
Because yes.
Someone probably was.
But saying yes now...
Would sound exactly like the anonymous report predicted.
It was a trap.
A perfectly constructed trap.
If I denied everything...
I looked defensive.
If I admitted fear...
I looked unstable.
For one terrifying moment...
I was thirteen years old again.
Sitting in a psychiatrist's office.
Watching my mother answer every question for me.
Then I remembered something else.
I wasn't thirteen anymore.
I reached into my backpack.
One by one...
I placed items on the table.
The anonymous envelope.
The threatening note.
Photos of both.
The notebook.
Campus security's incident report from the previous night.
Officer Daniel's business card.
Finally...
I placed the counseling center brochure on top.
"I've already reported being harassed."
"I've already sought therapy voluntarily."
"And I've documented years of abuse."
The room became very quiet.
The dean slowly opened the notebook.
She read one page.
Then another.
Then another.
Nobody spoke for almost five minutes.
Finally...
She looked up.
"Caitlyn..."
"I think someone is trying very hard to destroy your credibility."
When the meeting ended, Officer Daniel was waiting outside.
He looked relieved.
"You handled that well."
"I almost didn't."
He smiled.
"That's usually how courage works."
As I walked back toward my apartment, the afternoon sun felt warmer than it had in days.
Maybe...
Just maybe...
My mother's tricks wouldn't work here.
Maybe this place really could become home.
I unlocked my apartment.
Stepped inside.
Then froze.
The deadbolt was still locked.
The windows were closed.
Nothing appeared missing.
But something had changed.
On my kitchen table...
Perfectly centered...
Sat my childhood teddy bear.
The one I had left behind...
May you like
Seven years ago.
End of Chapter 2.
