First Impressions
At seven sharp, the doorbell rang. Emily stood beside a tall man in a white button-down shirt. He introduced himself as Mark, saying he worked in cybersecurity. His handshake was firm but strangely cold, and his smile never reached his eyes.
I tried to keep the dinner light with small talk, but something felt off. Emily seemed unusually clumsy—dropping her fork, then her napkin, then spilling her water glass. Her hands shook each time she bent down to pick things up.
The third time it happened, I leaned down to help—and froze. Her leg was trembling, and a large bruise stretched from her ankle halfway up her calf.
She looked at me, forcing a smile, but her eyes pleaded for help.
A Father’s Instinct
I kept my voice steady. “Oh, I think I left the pie in the oven. Let me check before it burns.”
In the kitchen, I quietly shut the door, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911.
“This is David, at 1824 Willow Lane,” I whispered. “My daughter may be in danger from the man she brought home. Please send someone quickly. I’ll stall him.”
The dispatcher told me officers would arrive within minutes.
