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.”
His face went still.
“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.”Privacy Issues
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.
