A Car Trailed Me Home Every Single Night. Then I Stopped...
The terror was an absolute, suffocating weight that settled into my chest the moment the office clock tower struck midnight. I would exit the secure underground parking garage layout, pull my compact car onto the deserted multi-lane avenue, and watch the rearview glass frame. Within three blocks, without fail, a modest dark sedan would slip into the lane behind me, maintaining a fixed, unyielding five-car distance through every twist, highway exit, and residential turn. I was entirely convinced my worst nightmare had finally manifested. Four months earlier, I had narrowly escaped an incredibly volatile, controlling relationship, changing my phone numbers, altering my digital access codes, and relocating to an unadvertised apartment layout across town to erase my physical paper trail. I hadn't told anyone at my new corporate job about the trauma, save for a single, fleeting mention to a quiet software engineer named David while we were waiting for an espresso machine to cycle duri...
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