…it opened a photo of my old apartment window, taken from across the street. Spring 2019. I didn’t wait to see the next one. I picked up my phone, stood up, walked straight to the hostess stand, and said, loudly, “That man at the window table has been stalking me for five years. Please call the police.”
The whole restaurant turned around. The manager stepped in front of the door. The man at my table stood up very calmly, picked up his phone, and tried to leave through the kitchen. Two line cooks stopped him without anyone asking them to.
My friend arrived four minutes later, out of breath. The police were right behind her. His name was Ethan Ward. He’d worked at the IT company that managed my old office’s email. In 2019, he’d copied everything from my account. Photos, messages, my journal app, my vet records. Every year after that, he’d found a new way in.
The folder had four thousand files. My birthday dinner alone. My dog Biscuit’s vet appointments. Screenshots of texts with my sister. He’d created the dating profile using things he’d learned about what I liked. “He studied you like a test,” the detective said quietly. “He was very proud of how much he knew.”
He was charged with stalking and multiple computer crimes. I changed every password, every account, every lock. I had my phone wiped by an expert. It took months to feel normal.
But here is what I remember most from that night. While the police were putting him in the car, my friend held my hand on the sidewalk and said, “You didn’t freeze. You didn’t stay polite. You stood up and said it out loud.” I’d spent five years being watched without knowing it. It took me eleven seconds to make sure everyone else in that room was watching him.
