We moved to get away from him. But five years later, he found us.
It started with a routine mall trip. My daughter Mara, usually chatty and carefree, suddenly went rigid beside me.
“Mom, we have to leave. Now,” she hissed.
I didn’t ask questions—I just followed her out. Only in the car did she explain: she’d seen Javier Cardenas, our old landlord, the man who had once stalked us to the point we fled our home.
That night, a text confirmed it: “Nice seeing you again.”
The police couldn’t act without a direct threat, but a call from an old neighbor revealed Javier had been staying with his brother—who lived nearby.
I took action. Security cameras. A restraining order. Constant vigilance.
Then, we spotted a man watching our house. Security detained him—it was Javier’s brother, gathering intel for him. His arrest led to Javier’s.
Now, Mara and I sit outside, the evening calm around us.
“You protected us,” she says softly.
I smile. “We protected each other.”
