I've been watching her house for seven straight days.

Seven days of sitting in my car across the street, memorizing her routine, learning the rhythm of her life. She leaves for grocery shopping on Tuesdays. Takes walks around the block every evening at six. She always looks over her shoulder and checks the windows.

She knows someone's watching her. But instead of fear, I catch glimpses of something else in her posture. Relief? Hope?

It's killing me to stay away.

"You look like hell," Marcus ...