You know, I never thought love would hit me the way it did when you walked into my life. I mean, I’ve seen a lot — darkness, heartbreak, the kind of evil that leaves a stain on your soul — but you were different. You were light. Real light. The kind that doesn’t blind you, just warms you from the inside out.

We were just friends at first. I liked you, sure — who wouldn’t? You’re smart, you’ve got that beautiful kind of laugh that sneaks up on people, and you know how to hold your own in any room. But I kept it respectful. I watched you from a distance, listened when you talked, made sure I was there when you needed someone. What I didn’t expect… was how much I needed you.

But even when we were just friends, I noticed something off.

You never said anything outright. It was in the way you always checked over your shoulder, how your smile sometimes froze when your phone buzzed. Once, we were getting coffee — just two friends — and you flinched when you saw someone across the street. I followed your eyes. Guy in a grey hoodie. He looked away too fast.

“Friend of yours?” I asked casually, but my tone must’ve given me away.

You forced a smile. “No. Just… thought I recognized someone.”

I didn’t push. Not then. But I started paying attention.

Turns out, you had an ex. Not just the jealous type — the obsessive type. The one who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. The kind who shows up places he shouldn’t, leaves flowers without a note, calls from private numbers, then hangs up. I found out the whole story months later, once you finally trusted me enough to open up.

When we finally got together — and God, that day, you just glowed — I promised myself I’d protect you from anything that tried to dim that light. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but after we made it official, the shadows seemed to back off. No more calls. No more creepy coincidences. No hoodie guy lurking across the street.

Maybe it was me. Maybe he took one look at me — six-two, federal badge, years of tracking down monsters — and realized he was outmatched.

But I’ve learned something in this job: evil doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes, it just waits.

A couple nights ago, we were lying in bed — your head on my chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over my skin — and you said, “You ever feel like the past is just… watching you?”

I tilted your chin so I could look in your eyes. “You feel like he’s back?”

“I don’t know.” You looked away. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

You’re not. Not with your instincts. You’ve been through enough with this dude to know when something’s off.

And now, I’ve been noticing little things too. A car that shows up on our street more than once. A shadow across the window that disappears when I look. The other night, I found our trash can moved — not knocked over, just shifted, like someone was looking for something. Nothing concrete. Nothing I can act on. Not yet.

But something’s coming. I can feel it.

This morning, I got a text from an unknown number. No words. Just a picture. You. Sitting on our front steps. Smiling. Drinking your coffee. From yesterday.

I don’t know who sent it. But I’m going to find out.

And when I do, God help whoever they are.

They messed with the wrong woman.

They messed with my woman.