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.
