My mind raced. I closed the door and locked it. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely slide the deadbolt into place.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think. I work as a dental receptionist at a small practice in town.

I spend my days filing paper charts and arguing with insurance companies. I am tired. I am always so tired. But I knew I wasn’t crazy. I knew nobody was living in my house besides my teenage daughter.

Then, I remembered the camera.

Two years ago, during a Black Friday sale, I bought a cheap $49 security camera on Amazon. I had some vague idea about package thieves, but I never really used it. I screwed it onto the wood of the back porch, set up the app on my phone, and completely forgot it existed.

I sat down at the kitchen table, my knees feeling weak. I spent ten minutes trying to remember the password to the app. When I finally logged in, my thumb hovered over the cloud history.

There were 87 days of recorded footage.

I clicked on the log from the previous night. I scrolled to 11:00 PM.

My kitchen was dead quiet. The only sound was the low hum of our old refrigerator. I watched the little circle spin on my phone screen as the video loaded.

Suddenly, the screen flickered. A figure appeared from the shadows of the alley. It was a tall man. He was wearing a gray work jacket. He walked up to my back door with complete confidence. He didn’t look around. He didn’t hesitate.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, inserted it into my lock, and let himself inside.

I stared at the screen. I couldn’t breathe. I felt sick to my stomach.

I scrolled back through the days. One week ago. Two weeks ago. A month ago. It was the same video, every single night. 11:00 PM, he enters. 6:15 AM, he leaves. He had a key.

My head was spinning. I went to Lily’s room and knocked. She was still in her pajamas, sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone. When she saw my face, she sat up straight.

“Lily, come to the kitchen,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was flat. Empty.

That brings us back to the kitchen table. To the blue ceramic mug. To the screenshot of the man in the gray jacket.

“Who is this, Lily?” I asked again. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have the energy. “Who is this man sleeping in our house?”

Lily’s skin looked gray. She looked at the floor, her chest heaving as she fought back tears. “He told me not to tell you. He said you would make him leave. He said he just wanted to see me.”