repaired and asked why I had three different types of screwdrivers hanging beside the garage door. I explained my father's system of organizing tools. She listened, and when I finished, she asked if he had taught me the trick of putting a little tape around the screwdriver handle to keep it from slipping during awkward repairs.
"He did," I said. "How do you know about that?"
"My grandfather. He repaired everything in his house with approximately four tools and a terrifying amount of confidence."
We spent the afternoon planting herbs in a planter by the kitchen window. It was such a peaceful day that I remember looking at the clock and being startled that hours had passed without anyone crying, accusing, or demanding proof of anything. By evening we were sitting on the couch watching a movie when my phone lit up with a message from the neighbor across the street.
"Hey, Patrick. I think your ex is sitting in a car near your driveway. Been there about twenty minutes. Didn't want to worry you, but I thought you should know."
I opened the camera feed. A faded sedan was parked across the road. The driver wore sunglasses and had her phone angled toward my house. I didn't need a close-up to recognize the way Minerva sat with one shoulder tilted toward the window. My stomach tightened, and for a moment I felt as though the last three months had been folded up and put away without my permission.
Rebecca saw my expression. "What happened?"
I showed her the message, then the feed. She looked at it for a few seconds before speaking. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No," I said. "But I need to tell you something. That's Minerva. She isn't supposed to be part of my life anymore, and I'm worried she's trying to make herself part of it again."
Rebecca put her phone down. She didn't ask for a story that would flatter her or make Minerva look worse. She asked whether I felt safe and whether there was a plan if the woman outside tried to come onto the property. I told her I would not confront anyone in the street. I would save the recording and speak with Clara about whether it fit a pattern that justified further action.
We finished the movie, although I remember very little of it. Every few minutes my eyes moved toward the front window. The sedan eventually left, and the next morning I sent the video to Clara. She advised me to keep a record of the incident and avoid responding, but explained that one car parked on a public street would not automatically establish harassment. Context and repetition mattered. I wrote down the time and went to work.