Because she’s lonely.
Because she’s trying.
Because some idiot told her she should be out there.
And it pisses me off.
My anger isn’t directed at her though.
Never at her.
It’s at whoever made her think she had to settle for this.
It’s at whoever made her feel like she had to put herself back on the market when she should be cherished.Protected.Held so close no one could ever get close enough to hurt her again.
Because someone’s been trying.And that’s something that won’t go unanswered.
I read the reports.I know she didn’t see it at first.Not really.
She thought it was her imagination.
Keys not where she left them.
A drawer she swore she closed now hanging slightly ajar.
Files just a little bit out of order.
She second-guessed herself.
Brushed it off.Like most people do when the danger hasn’t drawn blood yet.
Until it escalated.
Until whoever-it-was got sloppy.Or cocky.Or impatient.
A broken lock on her front door.
A loose lock on the classroom window.
A cracked hinge on the cabinet where she keeps her grade book and emergency supplies.
Her bedroom drawers, forced open and rifled through.
Her favorite mug—broken
And still, the cops said it was nothing.
Maybe a student.
Maybe a janitor.
Maybe someone just looking for snacks.
Bullshit.
I’ve seen this pattern before.The slow escalation.The testing of boundaries.The quiet invasion of privacy until the victim starts questioning their own instincts.
It’s a warning.A declaration.
