Behind the Glass

My friend’s stalker wasn’t a stranger he was someone we walked past every single day without

thinking twice. Jenna always took the same route home after work. Three blocks,

decent lighting, people around. She always said it felt safe because the neighborhood

was busy enough. Then little things started happening her mailbox open packages moved her

side gate unlatched. She brushed it off as delivery mistakes or wind. Then she came home

one night to a note on her porch that said, You looked sad today. No name.

No explanation. Just that. She reported it, but without proof, no one could do

much. So I started walking her home. We kept passing this older guy who