Someone had been photographing me, and my home, and my sister, documenting where I lived and where I worked and who I loved, building a careful record of my small invisible life.

It is a violating thing, to see yourself in surveillance photographs, to realize that while you were simply living, going to work, sitting with your sister, someone was outside in the dark with a camera, turning your life into evidence.

My first feeling, under the shock, was fear.

Who does this.

Who would spend money and effort to track a waitress and a college student.

What did they want.