Tomorrow, I attend yet another medical appointment — this time to address the latest round of events: more gold hearts left like haunting signatures, and further vandalism to my car. These incidents will now be added to the growing collection of reports — this time, by my psychologist, alongside the formal police documentation.

The case file is getting larger. Not because I’m dramatic. Not because I’m overreacting. But because the truth leaves traces, and those traces are finally being recorded.

I’ve now been advised that nothing further will be progressing until September. Everyone is on holiday. Everyone except me — because when you’re living through this, there are no holidays from fear. No breaks from being alert. No time off from having to check behind you, check under the mat, check the locks again.

My family is coming to visit. I’m praying that these next few weeks will be peaceful, that whoever is behind this doesn’t escalate while I try to enjoy something close to normal life. But that lingering anxiety — the “what if?” — is always there.

Still, I show up. Still, I speak. Still, I write. Still, I protect myself in every way I can.

Because silence doesn’t keep you safe. Action does. Documentation does. Boundaries do.

And I’ll keep going. One appointment, one report, one page at a time.