Here’s a shortened, tighter version while keeping the suspense and twist (≈200 words):
I came home exhausted from work. The living room lamp was on, the TV murmuring from the bedroom. My boyfriend, Matt, was asleep on the couch. Strange—he always greeted me.
I brushed it off and went for a shower.
The moment I stepped into the bathroom, I froze. A shadow moved behind the curtain.
My heart slammed in my chest.
“Matt?!” I called.
The curtain ripped back.
A naked man I’d never seen stood there, water dripping from his skin.
I screamed and ran. “There’s someone in the house!”
Matt jolted awake, went ghost-pale, and grabbed my arm. “Get to the car. Lock it. Call 911. Now.”
I didn’t argue. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the keys.
Police came fast. They searched the place and uncovered the nightmare: the man hadn’t just broken in. He’d been hiding in the guest room for days.
But the part I can’t forget wasn’t the intruder.
It was Matt.
The way he knew exactly what to do. The fear in his eyes when I described the man.
Later, an officer told me they recognized each other.
They had a history.
Matt never explained it—not really.
And while I’m grateful his instincts saved us, I can’t stop wondering what else he hasn’t told me.
