40
Sara
I first sense that something is off when I drive home alone after my evening shift at the clinic.
No government-issue car follows me home, and no one surreptitiously watches me as I park my car in front of my apartment building and walk in.
Telling myself I’m being crazy—that I’m just tired and not properly registering things—I shower and fall into bed. There’s no point in worrying about this. Even if I’m not having some weird reverse paranoia, maybe the Feds had to take the night off—babysit their kids or something. It hasn’t happened since my return, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
FBI agents are human too.
Still, I toss and turn, unable to fall asleep despite my total exhaustion. I try to think back to whether I felt watched at all today, but I can’t recall. Either
