Weeks Later, Stella's POV

The days that followed blurred together into care routines, precautions, and a constant undercurrent of fear that I tried not to show. As soon as I read that threatening message, I changed my phone number the very next day, hoping the anonymous sender would give up. I went to the police station, filed a report, handed over my old phone with the number and everything. But, as expected, the response was the usual vague line: "We'll investigate." An investigation that, so far, had led nowhere, and probably never would.

Deep down, I knew the feeling of being watched wouldn't disappear just because of a new number or a police report. It was impossible not to feel scared, but I did my best to ignore that sensation whenever I could.

Time passed, and little by little my routine settled back into place. The bruises healed. The cut on my forehead became nothing more than a faint mark. The scratches on my arm faded, and my knee finally stopped protesting after a fe