My Coworker Won’t Stop Harassing Me—Now I’m Scared She’s Breaking Into My Home

It all started out as a simple, decent gesture. I thought I was just being helpful when I offered to lift a few heavy boxes for Lisa, a coworker from another department. It seemed harmless at the time—until it turned into a nightmare I can’t escape from. Now, I feel like I’m living in some twisted horror story where the villain is always lurking just around the corner.

Lisa wasn’t someone I’d ever had much contact with. We shared the same office space, but different departments, different worlds. She always seemed nice enough in passing—a quiet smile, a nod as we passed in the hallway. But after that day, after I helped her with those boxes, things changed.

It started innocently enough. She texted me that evening:

Lisa: “Hey! Just wanted to say thanks again for helping me earlier. You really saved me!”

I didn’t think much of it. I responded out of politeness:

Me: “No problem. Glad I could help.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

The next day, another message came in.

Lisa: “What’s up? How’s your day going? :)”

I figured it was friendly. I responded briefly but didn’t encourage conversation. Then came the next text, and the one after that. By the end of the week, she was messaging me every hour, about everything and nothing—how her lunch was, what show she watched last night, how bored she was.

I was at work, trying to focus, when my phone buzzed again. I saw it was her and sighed.

Lisa: “Miss talking to you. Why are you ignoring me? I thought we were close…”

Close? I barely knew her.

It got to the point where I had to block her number just to get some peace. I thought that would be the end of it—problem solved, right?

Wrong. Two days later, I opened my work email, and there she was.

Lisa (Email): “Hey, not sure why you blocked me, but I really miss chatting with you. Did I do something wrong? Let’s grab lunch and talk it over.”

I stared at the screen in disbelief. What was her deal? It wasn’t just friendly anymore—it was invasive. I tried to avoid her around the office, but every time I turned a corner, there she was, watching, waiting. It was like she had memorized my routine.

Then the rumors started.

Coworker: “Hey man, I didn’t know you were dating Lisa! Since when?”

Me (alarmed): “What? I’m not dating her!”

Coworker (confused): “Uh, she’s been telling everyone you guys have been going out for weeks now.”

My stomach dropped. What? I had to explain over and over again that we weren’t dating—that we weren’t anything—but the damage was done. People believed her. They congratulated me on my “relationship.” Some even teased me about keeping it quiet. All the while, Lisa just smirked whenever I saw her.

I thought I could handle it by distancing myself, by ignoring her. But then it crossed a line I never expected.

One night, I came home from work, exhausted and tense from the constant harassment. As soon as I stepped inside, something felt… off. The air felt different, and I noticed a slight shift in my surroundings—my keys weren’t where I’d left them, a chair was angled strangely, and the door to my bedroom was half-open when I always left it shut.

At first, I brushed it off as exhaustion or paranoia. But over the next few days, more things felt out of place. A book on the shelf had been moved. The window I always left closed was slightly cracked. Small things, but enough to unsettle me.

Then, it happened.

I was sitting on the couch, checking my emails when a notification popped up. It was from Lisa.

Lisa (Email): “I’m glad you finally noticed. You have a nice home.”

My heart raced. How did she know where I lived? I stared at the message, my fingers trembling.

I called her out immediately:

Me (Email): “What the hell is wrong with you? Stay away from me, and stay away from my house.”

She responded almost instantly.

Lisa (Email): “I was just trying to spend time with you. We’re together, remember? You shouldn’t leave the window unlocked, babe.”

I felt sick. She’d been inside my house. She knew where I lived, and she was watching me. I’d come home to find her standing at my front door before, but I never imagined it had escalated to this. What else had she done when I wasn’t home? What was she capable of?

The next morning at work, I tried to avoid her, but Lisa found me.

Lisa (cornering me in the hallway): “We should talk. I don’t get why you’re acting like this. We’re supposed to be together.”

Me (backing away): “We are not together. Stop following me, and stop spreading lies!”

Her face twisted in anger, a flash of something dark behind her eyes.

Lisa: “You don’t get to push me away like this. I’ve done everything for you!”

I was shaking. HR wasn’t taking me seriously. To them, it was just “office drama,” but to me, it was a nightmare. No one believed the level of obsession she had. She was everywhere—at work, near my house, always texting or emailing me. I couldn’t escape.

The only option left was to quit my job. So I did. I packed up my life and moved to a different town, somewhere far enough that Lisa couldn’t find me, at least that’s what I hoped. It felt like a fresh start. For the first time in months, I was able to sleep through the night without checking if the doors were locked or wondering if something in my house had been moved again. The nightmares started to fade, and I began to feel like myself again.

Three months after leaving the chaos behind, I met someone new. Her name was Emily, and she brought so much light back into my life. She didn’t know about the whole Lisa ordeal—not yet anyway. I didn’t want to scare her off with tales of a deranged coworker stalking me across cities.

We were happy. For the first time in a long time, I was genuinely happy.

But as fate would have it, peace never lasts long when you’re living under the shadow of someone like Lisa.

One night, Emily and I were at a local café, laughing over coffee, talking about plans for the weekend. It was one of those perfect, serene moments that I had missed so much. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—Lisa—standing at the café window, staring directly at us.

My blood ran cold. She was here. She had found me. How? How was this even possible?

Emily was chatting, completely unaware of the storm brewing outside, until the door opened with a jingle, and Lisa marched straight to our table. She was crying. Her voice was shaky, her eyes wet with tears.

Lisa (voice trembling): “Why did you leave me? Why are you here with her? After everything we’ve been through… how could you?”

Emily looked at me, confused and concerned.

Emily (softly): “Who is this? What’s going on?”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry, and the words just wouldn’t come out. I felt trapped all over again. But Lisa wasn’t done.

Lisa (sobbing now): “You were the only one who ever cared. Do you know what it’s like to be treated like I’m invisible? Like I’m not good enough? I’m fat, okay? No one ever looks at me like they look at you. But you—you helped me. You smiled at me. You made me feel like I mattered.”

Her voice cracked with emotion.

Lisa: “You said I could count on you. So why did you leave me all alone?”

Emily’s face grew even more concerned, her hands gripping the edge of the table.

Emily: “Did you… were you two…?”

Me (shaking my head desperately): “No, she’s lying! She’s crazy, Emily. I swear, none of this is true.”

Lisa (cutting me off, her voice rising): “But you were there for me! You made me believe that maybe someone could love me! And then you just vanished—blocked me like I was some disgusting joke!”

She broke down, covering her face as tears streamed down her cheeks. The entire café had gone silent, everyone watching us.

Lisa suddenly grabbed my arm, her tears falling onto the table.

Lisa (whispering through sobs): “I loved you because you were the first person who didn’t treat me like trash. I know I’m not beautiful. I know I’m fat, and no one ever treats me kindly. But you did. Why would you give that to me and then rip it away? Why would you make me think I had a chance and then leave?”

The room felt like it was closing in. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me felt sympathy for her pain—she was clearly broken—but another part of me was terrified of what she’d do next.

Me (softly): “Lisa, I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but we were never—”

She interrupted me again, but this time, the anger had drained from her voice. She was simply pleading, desperate.

Lisa (sobbing): “Please. Don’t you understand? I didn’t have anyone else. I just wanted someone to love me.”

Emily stood up, shaking her head, looking at me like she couldn’t believe what was happening.

Emily: “I need to go. I can’t… I can’t deal with this.”

She grabbed her bag, walking away quickly, leaving me sitting there with Lisa, who had finally stopped crying but still had that desperate look in her eyes.

I stood up too, trying to catch Emily before she left, but Lisa grabbed my arm again, her grip surprisingly tight.

Lisa (whispering, her voice raw): “Please, don’t leave me. I can’t go back to being invisible. I won’t survive it.”

I gently pried her hand off my arm and walked out after Emily, but it was too late. Lisa had destroyed the one good thing I had. Emily wouldn’t answer my calls or texts after that night, and I couldn’t blame her. The situation was more than anyone could handle.

But Lisa wasn’t done. Over the next few days, she started showing up outside my house again, leaving notes on my door, texting me from unknown numbers. I changed my locks, installed more security, and tried to erase any trace of where I lived.

I wanted to feel sorry for her. I knew she was in pain, and maybe I had unintentionally fed her delusion by being kind. But her love had turned into obsession, and I was trapped again.

This time, I wasn’t going to let her win. I contacted the police and reported everything—the stalking, the harassment, the break-ins, the threats.

Lisa’s pain was real, but it didn’t justify destroying my life. I couldn’t save her, and I wasn’t responsible for the darkness that consumed her.