By C.Kimberly Toms | July 1, 2025
Yesterday, I discovered that my rapist and persistent stalker was walking free. Not in thirty days, not next month, not next year—yesterday. After five years of believing I knew exactly when this moment would arrive, I learned I had been wrong about the most fundamental detail: the timing of his release.
The system had failed me in the most basic way possible. Despite legal protections supposedly guaranteeing victim notification, no one—not the courts, not the DA’s office, not the Department of Corrections—had informed me that my stalker and rapist was being released. I had miscalculated his sentence structure, not understanding that his five-year probation had begun the day he entered prison, not the day he would leave it. Where I expected another year of protection, I found only empty space and my own unpreparedness.
Research shows that sexual offenders have a recidivism rate of approximately 5.3% within three years of release, with some studies indicating rates as high as 14% within the first five years for rapists specifically. Meta-analyses of sexual offender studies show an average recidivism rate of 13.4%, though these numbers vary significantly based on the type of offender and circumstances of their crimes.
The statistics for stalking offenders are even more alarming. Studies indicate that 49% of stalkers reoffend during follow-up periods, with 80% of those reoffending within the first year of release. Other research shows that over 50% of stalkers are reported to police again within two years. For someone who committed both rape and persistent stalking, these overlapping risk factors create a particularly dangerous profile.
For survivors of both crimes, these aren’t just statistics—they’re probabilities that shape every decision we make. Each percentage point represents sleepless nights, calculated moves, and the weight of wondering if we’ll become part of that devastating minority who face their offender’s repeat crimes in either form.
While victim notification systems exist at the federal level and in many states, providing information about offender custody status and release, the reality is far more complex. Some states provide only 30 days advance notice of release, while others require victims to actively register for notifications. Many survivors, like myself, discover these systems exist only after the fact, or find that bureaucratic gaps leave them uninformed at the moment they most need protection.
Legal rights to victim notification vary by state, with some constitutionally protecting victims’ rights to know about an offender’s “conviction, sentence, imprisonment, and release”. Yet these rights mean little when the systems designed to protect us fail to reach us when we need them most, particularly for stalking victims who may face renewed surveillance and harassment upon their offender’s release.
Since 2013, I have never entered a room alone. Not literally—I learned to surround myself with people, to choose public spaces, to live transparently as a form of protection. But emotionally, I carried his presence everywhere. Every social situation, every new city, every moment of joy was shadowed by the awareness that somewhere, he existed, and that our paths remained forcibly connected through the machinery of justice.
There’s a strange liberation in discovering that your rapist and stalker has been released. For over a decade, I carried the weight of his baggage—the hypervigilance, the calculated decisions, the constant awareness of his geographic location and legal status. Now, for the first time since this nightmare began, we’re both free. We both get a fresh start.
I’m hoping that his fresh start doesn’t include acting on the compulsions that brought him into my life as both a rapist and stalker. But I’m realistic about the nature of predatory behavior, particularly given the high recidivism rates for stalking offenses. Research suggests that individual recidivism risk doesn’t simply disappear with time, and the patterns that led to his initial crimes—both the sexual violence and the obsessive surveillance—don’t vanish with the completion of a sentence.
I had planned to move to a safer city with more resources before his release, to prepare my life for the possibility of his return to harmful behavior in either capacity. That preparation was stolen from me by my own misunderstanding of sentencing structures and the system’s failure to keep me informed. Now I must navigate this new reality with less preparation than I had hoped for, but with more wisdom than I had when this journey began.
The truth is that no amount of preparation can fully insulate a survivor from the anxiety of a stalker and rapist’s release. The fear isn’t just about physical safety—it’s about the return of uncertainty, the loss of the small comfort that comes from knowing exactly where the person who harmed you is spending their days, and the renewed possibility of being watched, followed, or surveilled.
Today, I’m untethered for the first time in over a decade. The invisible countdown that has shaped my major life decisions has ended, not with the careful preparation I had planned, but with the abrupt realization that it had already finished. I’m learning to navigate this new reality where both my stalker and rapist and I have the freedom to write our next chapters.
The statistics remind me to stay vigilant, but they don’t define my future. While I can’t control whether he’ll reoffend in either capacity, I can control how I respond to his freedom. The skills I’ve developed over the past 12 years—the awareness, the community connections, the refusal to let fear dictate my choices—these remain with me whether he’s behind bars or walking free.
For other survivors facing similar moments, especially those who’ve endured both sexual violence and stalking, know that the anxiety you feel is valid and shared. The system that’s meant to protect us is imperfect, and the burden of our safety too often falls on our own shoulders. But we’re stronger than we know, more prepared than we realize, and more deserving of peace than our fears might suggest.
The countdown is over. The real test of our resilience begins now.
What about you? Have you experienced release of your violent offender? I’d love to hear your perspective! Connect on LinkedIn to discuss.