THE WINDOW HE LEFT UNLOCKED

I was six years old again, and the first thing I did was check every window in our new home. In my last life, two installers had come to hang our curtains.

One of them had deliberately left the security latch on the primary bedroom's balcony window unlocked. Late that night, a man had climbed the outside wall and gotten in.

After that night, Mom never dared go near a window again. Seven days later, she jumped from a different one. Dad lost control after watching the video the man had recorded.

He attacked him and spent eight years in prison. And I was bullied relentlessly in a children's group home.

This time, the moment the men left, I brought over a stool and pushed on every window, one by one. When I reached the primary bedroom, the window opened, just as I'd expected.

I turned to Mom. “Is that man coming back tonight?” Chapter 1 Mom was in the living room, gathering up the packaging left over from the curtain installation.

At my question, she looked up in confusion. “Hmm? Who's coming back tonight?” I didn't answer. I just stood beside the bedroom window.

The new curtains had just gone up, their creamcolored fabric reaching the floor and billowing slightly in the breeze.

Mom came over and frowned at the open window. “Rosie, why did you open that?” She reached to close it, and I grabbed her. “I didn't.

I just pushed on it, and it opened by itself.” She paused, then looked down at the security latch. There was nothing wrong with it.

It wasn't broken; it simply hadn't been pressed all the way down. Puzzled, she quickly worked it back and forth a couple of times. It clicked. This time, it was fully locked.

Mom studied the latch as if trying to remember what had happened during the installation that afternoon. “Maybe they opened the window to check how the curtains hung and forgot to latch it properly afterward.” I immediately shook my head and pointed beside the window. “No.

The man in black touched it.” I'd been playing in the living room while the two men hung the curtains that afternoon. I was little, so no one was guarded around me.

The older installer had stayed in the living room putting up the tracks. The other man had spent almost the entire time in the primary bedroom.

He wore a black baseball cap and barely spoke. When Mom brought something into the room, he was standing by the balcony with his hand on the security latch.

She'd asked casually, “Do you need to do something with the window, too?” The man smiled. “The curtains can rub against the window when they're down.

I'll check it for you.” Then he opened the window and closed it again. Everyone had thought it was perfectly normal. So had I.

Until that same hand reached back in through the window in the middle of the night. I would never forget that sight.

I took a deep breath, my grip tightening on the hem of Mom's shirt without thinking. “Mom, he touched this!” At last, her expression turned serious.

She took out her phone and made a call. “Hello, Mr. Brooks? I wanted to ask about the installers who came to hang my curtains today.

Was one of them wearing black and a cap?” There was some noise on the other end. The shop owner seemed taken aback. “A cap?” “Yes. The younger one, around thirty.

He did most of the work in the primary bedroom this afternoon.” There were two seconds of silence. “Ma'am, are you sure you're remembering that right?

I only sent Howard to your place today.” Mom's hand stopped in midair, still holding the phone. “Just one?” Chapter 2 “That's right.

We were swamped at the shop today, so Howard went to the job at your complex by himself.

He even complained to me this afternoon about how hard it was to carry a track that long on his own.” The color slowly drained from Mom's face. “But there was definitely someone behind him when he came in.” The other end went silent, too.

After a few seconds, Mom said, “Give me Mr. Howard's number.” The owner read it out, and she dialed it right there in front of me.

It rang three times before someone answered. “Hello?” Mom got straight to the point. “Mr. Howard, you installed our curtains this afternoon.

I want to know who that man was who came with you today.” Traffic sounded in the background. Howard was clearly taken aback. “Came with me?” “The one in the cap.

Doesn't he work for your shop?” “No. I thought he came in with you,” Howard said. Mom's face went completely white. As she said it, she seemed to realize something.

Howard fell silent on the other end, too.

It took him a few seconds to speak again, hesitantly. “…I thought he was with your family.” He hurried to explain. “He was standing nearby when I was unloading the tracks downstairs this afternoon.

He asked if I was there to install curtains for the place on the seventeenth floor. I said yes, and he helped me lift one end.

I thought he was a relative of yours, or someone from the remodeling company.” Mom's lips moved, but no sound came out. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.

She'd thought he worked for the curtain shop. The installer had thought he was with our family. So from beginning to end, not a single person had asked him: Who are you?

That was how he'd walked right into our home, carrying one end of a curtain track a little over six and a half feet long.

Howard clearly realized something was wrong, too. “Ma'am, he never told you who he was?” “No.” Even his voice changed. “I was drilling in the living room.

He said there was another set for your primary bedroom and told me to keep going with what I was doing.

I thought you'd hired someone else to install that set.” Mom couldn't listen anymore. She hung up and rushed into the bedroom.

I followed her as she looked at the window again, then up at the newly installed curtain rod. “Who put up this set in here this afternoon?” “The man in black.” Mom stood absolutely still.

Howard had been very clear. He hadn't installed anything in the primary bedroom. That meant an unidentified man had gotten into our home by helping carry a curtain rod.

Then he'd spent nearly half an hour alone in the primary bedroom. Mom yanked the curtains aside. White plaster dust from the installation still lay on the windowsill.

Two tiny plastic clips were on the floor, with half a cut zip tie beside them. It was all normal. Exactly the sort of things left behind after curtains were installed.

But the more normal it looked, the more chilling it felt. “Come on. Let's go to my mom's for now.” Mom hurried toward the entryway to get my coat. I stayed by the window.

In my last life, the police had said the man hadn't chosen our home at random. He'd known where the primary bedroom was, which window would open—even where the bed stood.

Dad had never been able to understand it. How could someone who'd only come to install curtains once know the inside of our home so well? Chapter 3 Now I finally understood.

He hadn't come to install curtains at all. From the minute he'd stepped into our home, he'd been looking.

Mom reached the entryway, realized I hadn't followed, and came back to take my hand. “What's wrong?” I looked up at her and tried to sound casual. “Mom, did he take pictures this afternoon?” She froze.

I remembered him taking out his phone after he finished in the primary bedroom. He'd aimed it at the curtains and taken several pictures.

Mom had thought it was part of the job and stepped aside for him. But had he really been photographing the curtains? Her expression changed abruptly, and she immediately dialed 911.

She'd just entered the number when the elevator chimed outside our door. Ding. My hand tightened sharply around hers. The hallway was quiet.

A few seconds later, someone stepped out of the elevator. Unhurried footsteps approached, one after another, then stopped outside our door. Mom quickly pulled me behind her.

She didn't open the door. The person outside didn't knock, either. Through the door, we heard a faint click. It sounded as if someone had raised a phone and taken a picture.

A moment later, the footsteps started again and slowly moved away. Mom looked down at me, her face deathly pale. I kept my eyes fixed on the door.

In my last life, I hadn't known the man would come back until late that night. But this time, it wasn't even dark yet. He was already back. The police arrived quickly.

The man outside was gone. Mom told them everything about the curtain installation that afternoon, then gave them the call records for the shop owner and Mr. Howard.

A young officer went to the building management office to get the security footage.

He returned less than half an hour later with a phone in his hand and a grave expression. “Take a look.

Is this him?” On the screen, a man in a black baseball cap stood in the corner of the elevator. The brim was pulled low, but he lifted his head briefly when the doors opened.

I recognized him immediately. It was him! The man who'd climbed in during the night in my last life. The officer swiped through a few more images.

At 2:12 p.m., the man entered the complex for the first time. He didn't sign in. Instead, he waited until Mr.

Howard swiped in while carrying the curtain rods, then came up behind him, helped support them, and followed him inside. At 4:47 p.m., he left with Mr. Howard. Mr.

Howard went into the underground parking garage. The man didn't.

The cameras caught him going around the back of the building and sitting beside the landscaped area for nearly twenty minutes before leaving the complex. At 6:11 p.m., he came back.

This time, he didn't enter the building. He only stood outside for a while. At 6:27 p.m., he appeared a third time.

That was when he'd just taken the elevator to the seventeenth floor, stood outside our door for less than a minute, then gone back down and left.

Mom grew paler as she listened. “Do you know him?” the officer asked seriously.

She shook her head. “I've never seen him before.” The officer turned to the contact information the curtain shop owner had sent. “And the shop really doesn't know him?” Mom suddenly seemed to remember something.

Her voice was low and serious. “At first, the owner said he didn't know him.” “At first?” She was already calling Mr. Brooks again. This time, she put him straight on speaker. “Mr.

Brooks, the police are at my home.” There was a noticeable pause on the other end. “Huh?

It's that serious?” “Look at the picture again!” Mom sent him a screenshot from the security footage. Several seconds passed without a reply.

Chapter 4 Mom asked again. “Are you sure you've never seen him?” “I don't…think so.” His voice had changed. Even I could hear it. “What do you mean, you don't think so?” Mr.

Brooks hemmed and hawed. “People come and go all the time in this business.

How am I supposed to remember everyone?” The officer beside us took the phone. “I'm with the local police department. I need you to cooperate.

Has this man worked for your shop before?” A long silence followed.

Finally, the answer came. “For a few days.” Everyone in the living room went quiet. “Then why didn't you say so?” Mr. Brooks rushed to explain. “That was three or four months ago!

He was a temp. We didn't even have a signed contract. I didn't remember right away.” The officer asked for his name.

That was how we learned he was Justin Simmons. “Why did he stop working for you?” This time, Mr.

Brooks stayed silent even longer. “He just…wasn't very good at the job.” “Be specific.” “There was a customer complaint.” Mom's voice grew shriller as she demanded, “A complaint about what?” Mr.

Brooks clearly didn't want to say, but the officer asked again.

Only then did he reluctantly answer. “…She said he was taking pictures he shouldn't have inside customers' homes.” “Taking pictures of bedrooms on his phone after he finished hanging the curtains.

Isn't it normal for installers to photograph the finished job? But that woman kept making a fuss. I didn't want the trouble, so I stopped using him.” My back went cold.

A chill shot through me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

Because Mom suddenly asked, “If he doesn't work for you anymore, how did he know I was having curtains installed on the seventeenth floor today?” Mr. Brooks went completely silent.

I suddenly realized it, too. Mr. Howard had been very clear.

The first thing Justin Simmons had said downstairs was, “Are you installing curtains for the place on the seventeenth floor?” Mr. Howard hadn't told him. He'd already known.

The officer had clearly realized it, too. “Where do you post your installation orders?” “The work group chat.” “Is he still in it?” Mr. Brooks didn't answer.

The officer's voice grew stern. “Mr.

Brooks?” Half a minute passed before he replied. “I think…I forgot to remove him.” Mom shot to her feet. “You stopped using him three months ago because he was secretly photographing customers' bedrooms, but you left him in a chat where he could see their addresses and installation times?” “Oh, come on!

Listen to how you're putting it!” Mr. Brooks was getting agitated, too. “Secretly photographing? The police haven't even decided what to call it.

Don't start throwing accusations at us.

Besides, if he chooses to read the chat, what am I supposed to do?” Mom's lips trembled with anger. “That's my home address!” “All right, all right.” He was growing impatient. “Nothing's happened to your family, has it?” I froze.

In my last life, on the seventh day after Mom died, I'd heard plenty of things like that. At least they were alive. At least the child was okay. At least it hadn't been worse.

As if no one's fear mattered unless someone died right in front of them. But Mom suddenly became calm. “You're right. Nothing's happened to us.

That's because my daughter noticed that window, not because he had no intention of doing anything.” She hung up. In the end, the police told us not to stay there that night.

Mom hurried to call Dad again. He was still out of town when he answered. Chapter 5 After hearing the whole story, he said calmly, “Honey, get out of there, both of you!

I'll come see what's going on as soon as I'm done with work.” Mom kept checking the window with her hands, over and over. My heart gave a sudden pang.

She'd been exactly like this after what happened in my last life. She could check the windows dozens of times a day.

Even when they were locked, she'd suddenly get out of bed and scream for us to check them. Later, Dad added locks to every window. She still didn't dare go near them.

I hurried over and threw my arms around her legs. I didn't tell her not to be scared.

I just held on. “The police are still here.” Mom paused, then crouched down and hugged me. “Yes. Let's go.” We had just stepped into the elevator when her phone chimed.

A picture had come from an unfamiliar number. She opened it, and her face instantly went white. It was our front door. The photo had been taken just ten to twenty minutes earlier.

Another message appeared right after it. [Window locked?] Mom nearly dropped her phone. The officer took it from her at once