The Bride Widow
Chapter 167: Small ways to make someone feel- Part 2

Chapter 167: 167: Small ways to make someone feel- Part 2

It all began with a single, seemingly innocuous message on Anabella’s phone: "You’re being watched. Better watch your back." At first, she dismissed it as a prank or a mistake, something that didn’t deserve her attention.

But the messages didn’t stop. They came with increasing frequency, each one more menacing than the last, filling Anabella with a growing sense of unease.

She tried to brush it off, convincing herself it was just someone playing a sick joke. But as the days turned into weeks, the texts became more specific, referencing places she had been and people she had spoken to.

The realization that someone was indeed watching her gnawed at her peace of mind. She started to feel the weight of invisible eyes on her wherever she went.

Despite her mounting fear, Anabella chose not to report it. She knew the police had already intervened with Jackson’s recent harassment, and she doubted they would take her seriously again.

Besides, she had no concrete evidence, just a series of anonymous messages. The thought of being brushed off or labeled paranoid kept her from seeking help.

Instead, Anabella decided to take matters into her own hands. She switched her phone and SIM card, hoping to sever the link between herself and the mysterious sender.

She thought this would bring an end to the nightmare, offering her a fresh start and some semblance of control over her life again. But the relief was short-lived.

The messages found their way to her new number, as persistent and unnerving as ever.

Anabella’s heart sank every time her phone buzzed, her mind spiraling into worst-case scenarios. How did they get her new number so quickly? She felt trapped, as if her every move was being tracked.

The stress began to seep into her daily life, affecting her work at the bakery. Her once carefree demeanor became overshadowed by paranoia.

She started glancing over her shoulder constantly, eyes darting around in search of any suspicious figures. Every customer seemed like a potential threat, every stranger like the one sending those messages.

Her manager noticed the change in Anabella and tried to offer support, suggesting she take some time off or talk to someone about what was bothering her.

But Anabella refused, not wanting to burden anyone else with her troubles.

She put on a brave face, even when her hands trembled as she served customers, even when her sleep was interrupted by nightmares of being followed or attacked.

The messages weren’t just confined to her personal life. They invaded her sanctuary at work, arriving during shifts and heightening her anxiety.

Each buzz of her phone was like a jolt to her system, a cruel reminder that she was never truly alone. Her world, once predictable and safe, had become a minefield of fear and suspicion.

One evening, after closing the bakery, Anabella lingered a little longer, afraid to step out into the darkened streets alone.

She waited until most of the staff had left, thinking that if she left with the last of the crowd, she would be less vulnerable.

But even with this precaution, she felt exposed, the shadows playing tricks on her mind, turning every rustle of leaves or distant footsteps into a potential threat.

The messages had done their job; they had eroded her sense of security, replacing it with dread.

Anabella’s life had transformed into a constant state of vigilance, her joy eclipsed by the fear of an unseen enemy. She knew she couldn’t keep living like this, but she didn’t know how to make it stop.

Her nights were restless, filled with dreams of being chased and captured, waking up in a cold sweat, her heart racing.

She started to withdraw from her friends, too ashamed to admit how deeply the messages had affected her. Clair and Noah noticed the change but respected her silence, even as they worried from afar.

One particularly bad day, after receiving a message that said, "Nice dress today. Green really suits you," Anabella could barely hold herself together.

She had worn a green dress to work, and knowing that someone had seen her, noticed her, and commented on it, sent shivers down her spine. She hurried through her tasks, her mind clouded with fear and confusion.

That evening, when she finally returned to her apartment, she locked the door behind her and slumped to the floor.

The oppressive silence of the room did little to calm her nerves. She clutched her phone, contemplating what to do next. Should she tell Clair and Noah?

Should she try the police again, even if she feared their dismissal?

Anabella’s resolve to handle this on her own was wavering.

The walls she had built to keep her fears at bay were crumbling, and the weight of the isolation she had imposed on herself was becoming too much to bear.

For the first time since the messages began, she allowed herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, she couldn’t face this alone.

With trembling hands, she opened her phone’s contact list and hovered over Noah’s name.

She wanted to call, to hear a familiar voice, to feel a shred of comfort in the storm of her emotions. But the shame of her perceived weakness held her back.

She let the phone slip from her fingers, pulling her knees to her chest, and sat in the darkness, waiting for the dawn to offer a sliver of hope.

Anabella’s phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at it, a wave of anxiety washing over her.

The memories of the threatening messages flooded back, and she felt her chest tighten.

She contemplated picking up but couldn’t bring herself to answer. Instead, she let it ring, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

When it finally stopped, she breathed a sigh of relief, but the unease lingered, leaving her more unsettled than before. Now the messages were turning into calls, so what was next? A personal visit?