“It’s my property, I can point it wherever I want.”

He laughed when he said it. Greg. The new guy who moved in next door two months ago. He was standing on his porch holding a beer, completely unbothered, while my hands were shaking so violently I couldn’t even put my house keys into my pocket.

“Greg, it’s aimed directly into my second-story bedroom window.”

“It’s a wide-angle lens,” he shot back, not even looking at me. “It covers the driveway.”

“The driveway is on the ground! The camera is tilted up!”

“My property. My rules.”

“You’re recording where I sleep!”

“Then close your blinds if you’re so worried,” he sneered, finally turning to look at me. “Or don’t. I really don’t care.”

“I’m calling the police, Greg.”

“Go ahead,” he smiled, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Tell them I’m protecting my driveway from thieves.”

My chest was entirely hollow. Not angry. Just hollow, buzzing panic.

I lived in my little suburban house for five years. It was my sanctuary. I bought it after a horrific divorce left me with nothing but a mattress and a credit card. It took me years to afford real furniture. I loved the morning light that came through the sheer white curtains in my bedroom.

Now, every time I looked out that window, I saw the blinking blue ring of Greg’s camera. Mounted high on his garage eave. Pointed directly through the glass. Straight at my bed.

I called the non-emergency police line that night. Two officers arrived an hour later.

They stood in my driveway. They looked up at the camera. They looked at each other.

“It’s a civil matter, ma’am,” the older cop sighed.

“What?” I choked out. “He’s pointing it into my bedroom!”

“He’s on his own property,” the younger cop added, checking his watch. “We can’t force a homeowner to take down a security device on his own siding.”

“So he can just watch me dress? Every morning?”

“There’s no law against having a camera on your garage.”

“But it’s angled upward!”

“It’s a civil dispute,” the older cop repeated, turning his back to me. “Buy heavier curtains.”

They drove away. I stood in my driveway for twenty minutes. My legs literally died under me. I sat on the cold concrete.

I was entirely alone.

I went inside and taped black garbage bags over my bedroom window. I sat on the floor of my closet to change my clothes. Every time I turned the lights off to sleep, I could see the faint blue glow of his camera blinking through the gaps in the plastic. Recording. Always recording.