Unseen Intruder

I wasn’t supposed to be home that night. The streets were empty,

and everything felt off. As I walked through the quiet hallway, I noticed the front

door slightly ajar. I live alone. I froze. A cold breeze brushed past me,

and then I heard it — soft footsteps coming from the living room. I wanted to run,

but my feet wouldn’t move. The footsteps stopped. Silence. And then a note

appeared on the floor: ‘You weren’t supposed to see this.’ I blinked, heart racing.

I didn’t touch it. I just left. That night, I realized some doors,

once opened, can never be closed again.