It was a typical Tuesday night when I drifted off to sleep, looking forward to a reasonably calm Wednesday. My phone was on silent, as usual, but connected to the charger on my nightstand. I hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours when I was jolted awake by the insistent vibrations. Groggily, I reached for my phone, expecting perhaps a work emergency or a late-night message from a friend. What I saw, however, sent a [ “SHOCKWAVE” ] through my entire system. Eighteen missed calls. All from my daughter, Emily. And a text message that simply read: “Dad, help! Come fast!!” My mind immediately conjured up the worst-case scenarios. Had someone broken into her house? Was she hurt? Was her fiancé, Mark, in danger? Without a second thought, I threw on some clothes, grabbed my keys, and [ “BOLTED OUT THE DOOR” ]. I live about twenty minutes away from Emily and Mark, but that drive felt like an eternity. Every red light was a personal affront, every slow-moving car a deliberate obstacle. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I rehearsed what I would say, what I would do, how I would protect my daughter from whatever danger she faced. By the time I pulled into their driveway, I was a [ “NERVOUS WRECK” ], fueled by adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fear.
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I practically leaped out of the car and pounded on their front door. After what felt like an age, Mark opened the door, looking bewildered. Emily appeared behind him, equally confused. “Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “I got a text… you said you needed help!” I exclaimed, holding up my phone. Emily took one look at the screen and her eyes widened. [ “I NEVER TEXTED YOU THAT!” ] she insisted, shaking her head in disbelief.
We spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what had happened. Emily checked her phone and confirmed that she hadn’t sent any messages. Mark checked his, and there was nothing there either. We initially suspected a prank, perhaps a friend playing a tasteless joke. But the sense of unease lingered. After assuring myself that Emily and Mark were safe and sound, I reluctantly decided to head home. I felt a bit foolish for overreacting, but also incredibly relieved that it had been a false alarm.
As I was pulling out of their driveway, my phone buzzed again. I glanced at the screen, and my blood ran cold. It was another text message from the same unknown number. This time, it was even more chilling. It read simply: [ “I…” ]. The incomplete sentence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. I didn’t know what to make of it. Who was sending these messages? What did they want? And why were they targeting my daughter?
I showed Emily the new message and we both decided the best course of action would be to contact the authorities. The police took the situation seriously, promising to investigate the source of the messages and provide Emily and Mark with extra patrols. The sense of unease and [ “OVERWHELMING FEAR” ] has not left me since, and I am constantly checking in with my daughter to make sure she is safe.
