Then one evening, everything shifted.
It was warm, but not heavy. The pool lights softly illuminated the water, casting a calm blue glow. My husband and I stood near the edge, towels draped over our shoulders, speaking quietly.
That’s when I felt it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
I turned toward the fence.
A boy stood there, about twelve years old. He wasn’t climbing or sneaking around. He wasn’t calling out. He stood completely still, as though afraid to occupy too much space.
