Somebody tried to break into my house the night before last. My husband went into our dining room at just before seven in the morning and found the back door wide open and the bolt broken. It appears, the police said, that he (male?) stood outside the back door and just gave an almighty pull. The door opened. Three other houses were broken into as well.
He did not come into my house. Nothing was taken; there was no sign of any entry. We were lucky. We have two large dogs who sleep in the downstairs hallway and we think that the housebreaker must have heard them moving about. Maybe he thought our dogs were guard dogs and feared for his safety. Actually our dogs were more likely to overwhelm him and lick him to death.
My neighbours did have some stuff taken. Luckily no one stumbled upon this man and no one was hurt.
I am a crime writer and often give talks in schools. I start my talks by explaining that I don’t write these dark edgy stories from experience. I have, in fact, led a blessed life and have been lucky and it’s that good luck that makes me look on the dark side of life. When will be my turn? I think about this a lot.
The night before last it was my turn.
I should feel blessed because nothing was taken but part of me wonders, What if? What if he had entered my house? What if he had got past the dogs and come upstairs? What if my husband had got into a struggle with him? What if I had been alone?
Need I say more? My imagination settled in the corner of a dark place and stayed there all day.
The housebreaker didn’t steal anything from me except my feeling of security. Looking at it like that, he stole the most important thing I had.