Inside was another card, the same size as the first. It was a photo of me sitting at my window at night. The curtains were drawn back, the window open, and I could be clearly seen at my table, typing something on my laptop. It looked as though the room was lit by candlelight. There was no date stamp on the photo. I tried to think when it was taken, but I couldn’t see what I was wearing. It could have been any night. Slowly I turned over the card and read the message.

Still thinking of you.

I hardly slept for the rest of that night. My mind was racing with all the things that had happened. Who had invited me to the interview? That was obviously a hoax, but why would anyone do that? They had nothing to gain from it. That escort site had terrified me and now photos had been put through my front door in the middle of the night. It was horrible to think of myself sitting there, feeling vulnerable and alone, probably looking online for somewhere to live, a place where I could be safe, while someone stood outside, taking a photo that they knew would frighten me.

I couldn’t cope with this on my own. I needed help. I almost called Tom a dozen times, my finger hovering over the Call button, wanting him to rescue me. I knew that he’d come to fetch me, drive me home, and I’d be back in my old life. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Sarah was the only person I could think of. I wondered what she’d say if she knew Tom had told me he loved me, that he missed me. I thought she’d tell me to go back, to count myself lucky he knew nothing of Harry. And then I wondered: Had he talked to her? Her contact details were in our address book at home. Had he told her he wanted me to come back? Had she told him where I lived?

She would be awake at seven, but I couldn’t contact her that early. She’d be running around, too busy to reply. And I should get going, too; I had to be at work at nine. I got to work early and sat in my car until I knew she’d be at her desk. I sent her a message:

Have you spoken to Tom since I left home?

She replied immediately. No, I’m not the one who goes after married men

I ignored this barb. I had too much to think about. I thought of the photos I’d had with their cryptic messages, the phone calls, those disgusting men who didn’t even know me who thought I’d have sex with them for money. My phone number was on that site; who had put it there?