Then came the emails. Long, rambling paragraphs oscillating between begging for my affection and cursing my name. I set up filters, sending them straight to the trash. I told myself he would get bored. Guys like this always get bored, right? They move on to the next girl who will tolerate them.
He didn’t get bored. He got obsessed.
I still remember the exact moment my annoyance turned into cold, paralyzing terror. It was a Tuesday. I was walking out of my office building, my keys jingling in my hand, thinking about what I was going to make for dinner. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the concrete parking garage. And there he was. Leaning against the hood of a car two spots down from mine. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t waving. He was just staring at me with this blank, dead look in his eyes.
