It felt as though a stranger was walking through my apartment. Not loudly, not aggressively — on the contrary, too carefully. As if this “someone” knew my home well and didn’t want to be noticed. I heard the steps most often in the middle of the night, between two and four, when the whole body feels heavy and the mind seems to drift.

In the morning, strange things awaited me. Items were never where I had left them: my phone — on the bed, even though it had been on the desk the night before; clothes — thrown over the chair; on the floor — things I definitely hadn’t placed there. Sometimes the room was in complete disarray, as if someone had gone through the closet.