Brian stood there, stunned, stripped of whatever fantasy had been fueling him.
I left without being seen.
In the car, I smiled. I nodded. I listened to his lie about the bathroom line. I drove us home while my insides collapsed in slow motion. I told myself I needed proof. That maybe I misunderstood. That I couldn’t blow up my family over one overheard conversation.
So I waited.
The next Sunday, when he repeated the same routine, I didn’t hesitate. I found the woman. Introduced myself. Told her what I heard.
She didn’t look surprised. Just exhausted.
She showed me years of messages. Unanswered. Obsessive. Angry. Desperate. He had followed her across states, across decades. The church wasn’t a coincidence. It was stalking.
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