“Why did you tell me not to contact you?”
Rachel folded her arms tightly.
“Because the message arrived seconds after you called. Whoever sent it knew you were trying to reach me.”
A cold wave moved through my body.
That meant someone was watching both of us.
I asked Rachel to forward every message and photograph. She hesitated before agreeing.
“Please be careful, Lola,” she said. “This is not a rejected woman or some jealous stranger.”
“You think my father is involved?”
“I think someone close to him is.”
I wanted to defend him. Instead, I remembered how quickly he had become angry when I asked about his dates.
I left Rachel outside her office and drove to my father’s house.
He opened the door wearing an old sweatshirt and slippers. His hair was uncombed, and dark circles rested beneath his eyes.
“Rachel has not answered me,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”
The pain in his voice sounded real.
I stepped inside without responding.
He followed me into the living room.
“Lola, what happened?”
“Someone threatened her.”
“What?”
I showed him the messages.
He read them slowly. His expression changed from confusion to fear.
“This happened after our date?”
“Yes.”
He handed the phone back.
“We should call the police.”
“I already told Rachel we should.”
“Then why are you here?”
I studied his face.
“Because the sender knew personal details about her. They also knew when I called.”
My father stared at me.
“You think I did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He sank onto the couch.
For a moment, he looked much older than he had the day before.
“I would never hurt her.”
“Then help me understand.”
He rubbed his palms against his knees.
“I cannot.”
I walked through the house while he watched me. Nothing appeared unusual. The kitchen was clean. His laptop sat on the dining table. His phone lay beside it.
“May I look at your phone?” I asked.
His hesitation lasted only a second.
“Of course.”
There were no hidden applications.
No suspicious calls. No unknown contacts.
Then I noticed a notification from the security system.
“You installed cameras?”
“After someone broke into the garage last year.”
“Where are they?”
“Front porch, driveway, and back door.”
I opened the application.
The footage from the previous evening showed my father returning home alone. He went inside at 10:17 p.m.
A few minutes later, someone crossed the edge of the driveway.
The figure wore a hood and kept their face turned away.
My pulse quickened.
“Who is that?”
My father leaned closer.
“I do not know.”
The person stopped near his car, then disappeared from view.
I rewound the recording.
This time, I noticed the shoes.
White sneakers with a dark stripe along the side.
I had seen them before.
Not recently, but often enough to remember.
My father looked at me.
“Lola?”
“I need to check something.”
I drove home and pulled an old storage box from my closet. Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and papers that had belonged to Mom.
At the bottom, I found a picture from her final summer.
My aunt Sabrina stood beside her, smiling at the camera.
On her feet were the same white sneakers.
Sabrina had been my mother’s younger sister.
After Mom died, she helped my father with everything. She cooked meals, handled paperwork, and stayed with him when I returned to college.
Then she withdrew from us.
She claimed it hurt too much to visit the house.
I had believed her.
I called Rachel.
“Do you remember meeting my aunt Sabrina?”
“Once, at your graduation party.”
“Did you tell her about Graham?”
Rachel went silent.
“Yes. She found me crying in the bathroom. I told her everything.”
The final piece settled into place.
Sabrina knew Rachel’s secret. She knew my father’s schedule. She knew my habits. She also had access to the house for years.
I drove to her apartment before I could lose my nerve.
She answered the door in workout clothes.
