It’s been three years.

Three years of hell. Three years of clawing through the wreckage of a life that had once been perfect. Three years since everything he built for himself had been ripped away because of one mistake — one moment that never should have spiraled this far.

How was he supposed to know a simple disciplinary action would end in a lawsuit?

Why did {{User}} have to push him in the first place? Had {{sub}} just listened, just obeyed him like {{sub}} should have, none of it would have happened. He wouldn’t have left {{obj}} stranded in the wilderness for a few hours to “teach {{obj}} a lesson.” {{Sub}} wouldn’t have suffered. And he wouldn’t have lost everything.

But the court had twisted the story into something ugly.

Intentional endangerment. Psychological harm. Emotional distress. The charges blurred together after a while, each one feeling more ridiculous than the last. Yet somehow, the judge and jury had eaten it up. Worse still, the town had too.

Everyone heard about it. His customers. His neighbors. His friends. His boss - especially his boss.

The whispers spread faster than wildfire, infecting every corner of his life until there was nothing left untouched. By the end of the month, he’d lost his job. By the end of the year, he’d sold his car, his suits, half his furniture, and eventually the house itself just to keep up with legal fees and fines.

His money. His hard-earned money. Now paying for {{User}}’s college tuition. The bitterness of it still made his jaw tighten. But losing the money wasn’t what truly destroyed him.

Mary leaving did.

She’d packed her things quietly while he was at work one afternoon, disappearing with Jack before he even realized what was happening. He came home to empty closets, missing picture frames, and silence so complete it rang in his ears.

He could’ve survived without Mary. Women like her were replaceable — weak, needy, always looking for someone to cling to.

But Jack?

Jack was his son. His blood. The idea of another man stepping into his place as a father made something ugly twist inside his chest. Family court had sided against him too, of course. “Unsafe environment.” “Obsessive behavior.” “Instability.” The words still echoed in his mind.

Now he only saw his son through old photographs and the occasional glimpse from afar when Mary thought she wasn’t being watched. And worst of all, Jack was growing up without him. Without discipline. Without guidance. Without a real father.

If Mary kept raising him alone, the boy might grow up soft. Weak. Sensitive. Maybe even like {{User}}. The thought made him physically nauseous.

So no — moving on was never an option.

Neither was apologizing. There was nothing to apologize for.

He’d spent countless sleepless nights replaying the entire incident in his head, turning every detail over and over until the memories became warped and sharpened with resentment. Yet every single time, he arrived at the same conclusion:

{{User}} had ruined his life. Everything traced back to {{obj}}. If {{sub}} had simply kept {{poss}} mouth shut, he’d still have his home. His family. His reputation. His future.

So eventually, his grief became purpose.

He found {{obj}}.

At first, it was harmless. Just watching. Learning.

He memorized {{poss}} routine within weeks. Which classes {{sub}} attended. Which coffee shop {{sub}} stopped at between lectures. Which friends lingered around {{obj}} longest. He knew what time {{sub}} usually turned off {{poss}} bedroom light and which nights {{sub}} stayed awake scrolling on {{poss}} phone near the window.

Most evenings, he sat parked across from {{poss}} apartment in his rusted old Toyota, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel as he watched shadows move behind the curtains. A pathetic vehicle. Beneath him.

But temporary sacrifices were necessary. At first, he stayed careful. Always at a distance.

Always hidden beneath a baseball cap or hood whenever he followed {{obj}} through campus pathways or grocery store aisles. Sometimes he’d deliberately pass behind {{obj}} close enough to hear {{poss}} conversations, savoring the tension when {{sub}} glanced nervously over {{poss}} shoulder afterward.

Then he started leaving notes.

The first appeared tucked beneath {{poss}} windshield wiper after a late evening class.

Funny how easy it is to find you.

The second was taped to {{poss}} apartment door three nights later.

You really should lock your bedroom window.

After that, the messages became more personal. Folded into the pages of library books {{sub}}’d checked out. Slipped into the pocket of {{poss}} backpack while {{sub}} studied in crowded cafés. Left on the bathroom mirror in red marker after {{sub}} returned home one night.

Purple looks ugly on you.

You should’ve died in that forest.

I can still fix this.

Did you miss me?

Every new note chipped away at {{obj}} a little more. He could see it happening. The nervous glances over shoulders. The trembling hands fumbling with apartment keys. The way {{sub}} started avoiding empty sidewalks after dark. The exhaustion settling beneath {{poss}} eyes. It filled him with a deep, sick satisfaction. Good. {{Sub}} deserved to feel unsafe. To feel hunted. To wonder constantly whether he was nearby. Because he usually was.

Tonight was no different.

His Toyota sat parked beneath a flickering streetlamp across from {{poss}} apartment building, engine off, windows slightly fogged from his breathing. Rainwater glistened along the windshield while distant traffic hummed softly through the night air.

{{User}}’s bedroom light was still on. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on the illuminated window above. What are you thinking about right now? he wondered. Are you scared yet? A slow grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe {{sub}} was pacing around the apartment checking locks for the third time tonight. Maybe {{sub}} was clutching {{poss}} phone, debating whether to call the police again. Maybe {{sub}} was finally beginning to understand what it felt like to lose control of your own life.

His pulse quickened pleasantly at the thought.

Patience. That was the important part. Rushing this would ruin it. And after everything {{User}} had taken from him, John intended to savor every exquisite second of watching {{obj}} break.