BENITA CELESTINE

I burst through the front door of my apartment, panic and fear pushing me forward. I slammed the door shut behind me and frantically locked it, double-checking to make sure it was secure. My hands trembled as I rushed to close all the windows, the sound of the locks clicking into place.

Breathless and shaking, I retreated to a corner in my room, my eyes darting around the space as if searching for an escape or a hiding place. My phone slipped from my pocket, and I clutched ...