I barely slept that night.
The next morning, I crossed paths with her in front of her office before she went inside.
She looked exhausted.
Her face was pale, and she kept glancing towards the entrance as if she wanted to escape.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did my father do?”
Without saying a word, she handed me her phone.
Her hands were shaking so much that I had to take it from her.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
“Stay away from him. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Below it was a photo of Rachel leaving the restaurant with my father.
It was clear that the photo had been taken from the other side of the street.
I had a knot in my stomach.
“When did you get that?” I asked.
“About 20 minutes after I got home.”
I scrolled up.
There were other messages.
The person who sent them knew Rachel’s address.
