Things were so bad, I decided the best idea would be to just move. Work was happy to offer me a position in their Atlanta headquarters to try and rejuvenate my life. So, after six months of persisting torture, I packed up my stuff and headed across the country to move in with my cousin Felicia who was hell bent on turning my life around.
Things got better in Atlanta. The anonymity it brought to my life and the distance it gave me from the incident slowly brought me back to life.
The cops in LA had done pretty much nothing on the case, but they did find out one piece of evidence they shared with my dad and I before I left. It appeared my sleeping partner had been entering my apartment by simply picking my door handle lock with a credit card. This was a tactic I regrettably had done myself before when I was locked out and never really thought about how vulnerable it revealed the security of my apartment was.
My dad had been doing more work on the case than the cops probably were, but he didn’t tell me much about it until I reluctantly came home for Thanksgiving. My nerves were soothed by the gin and tonics the two of us had been swigging after our holiday gorging and I opened up to discussing the painful incident.
“There were actually security cameras outside of your door in the hallway of your building,” my dad said after a long discussion about whether I was comfortable with even talking about the whole thing.
“Now that you mention it…I do remember that,” I said.