It all started on a quiet Sunday morning. I had stepped out briefly to run some errands, leaving my house locked as usual. I never imagined that in the few minutes I was gone, someone would enter, help themselves to my valuables, and leave me with a story I would tell for years.
When I returned, everything looked normal. Nothing seemed missing at first glance. But instinct told me otherwise. Something in the air felt off a silence too heavy, a door slightly ajar, a cushion slightly moved.
I immediately sensed I was not alone. Panic mixed with curiosity as I tiptoed through my home, trying not to alert whoever was inside. Then I heard it: the soft shuffle of footsteps from the bedroom. My heart raced. Adrenaline took over.
I knew I had to act carefully this could have ended in disaster. I didn’t want to confront the intruder head-on without a plan. In that moment of confusion and fear.
