The following week, I decided to take a personal day from work. I needed time to think, to plan my next step. I sat down at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold by my side. My laptop was open, the cursor blinking on a blank document. I started typing, documenting everything I knew so far—every calendar entry, every text message.
The clock ticked loudly in the quiet room as I compiled my findings. I needed to understand the pattern, to see the connections that were eluding me. I printed out the document, the pages warm in my hands as I spread them across the table.
As I was piecing together the timeline, my phone buzzed—a voicemail notification. I played the message, the voice unfamiliar and unsettling. “Hey, it’s me again. Just checking in about Thursday. Let me know if the time still works.” The call was from an unknown number.
I replayed the message, listening for any clues in the tone or wording. My mind raced with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. I saved the voicemail, adding it to my growing collection of evidence.
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