She left the voicemails.

She reused the deleted account.

She wore the burn on her thumb into my parents’ living room without a thought of hiding it, because hiding it would have meant taking seriously the possibility that I was watching, and she had never in her life taken me seriously enough to imagine I might be.

That is the strange gift the underestimated are given, and I have built a career on it since.

The people who are most certain you are beneath their notice are the people who will commit their crimes most openly in front of you — because to them, you are not a witness.

You are furniture.