I came home exhausted after work, ready to relax. The living room lamp glowed softly, the TV hummed—but something felt off. Matt was asleep on the couch, which was unusual.
I shrugged it off and headed to the bathroom for a shower—then froze. A shadow moved behind the curtain. My heart raced.
“Matt?!” I yelled. The curtain swung back. A stranger, dripping wet, stood there.
I screamed and ran. Matt jolted awake, grabbed my arm, and shouted, “Get to the car! Lock it! Call 911!”
The police later revealed the intruder had been hiding in our guest room for days. And Matt? His reaction was instinctive—because the man wasn’t random. He was someone from Matt’s past, a secret he’d never told me.
That night, safe in the car, I realized just how much I didn’t really know about him.
