Vacations are supposed to be built on trust.

listened, frowned, and told me they would look into it. Maybe they did. Maybe they did not. We never heard anything meaningful after that.

We stayed in the hotel 

for two more nights, but sleep never came easily. Every sound in the hallway, every mechanical hum, every creak in the room made me tense again. When I eventually checked Airbnb, the booking had disappeared. The listing was gone. The host’s profile was blank. No photo, no reviews, no trace of the cheerful, welcoming presence that had existed just days earlier.

That was when I stopped believing this was just a misunderstanding.

Even now, months later, the feeling has not fully left. I still check ceilings when I enter a 

room. I unplug clocks, examine vents, and cover anything that looks out of place. Mara jokes that I have become paranoid, but she does the same thing herself. We do not