My hands trembled as I unlocked my phone. The new message came from the same number.
“I’m sorry. I had to make sure you still came when she needed you.”
I stared at the screen, confused. Before I could reply, another message appeared.
“She doesn’t know the truth about tonight.”
I turned my car around immediately and drove back to my daughter’s house. The lights were still on inside. When she opened the door, she looked worried.
“Dad? Why are you back?”
I showed her the texts. Her face went pale.
“That’s impossible,” she whispered.
Her fiancé suddenly stepped away from the doorway. That was when I noticed the blood on his sleeve.
My daughter burst into tears. “He said it was just a small fight,” she cried. “He told me not to call the police.”
The fiancé tried to explain, but his voice shook. Earlier that night, he had been involved in a hit-and-run accident only a few streets away. The victim was an elderly man walking home.
Then my phone buzzed one final time.
“Check the garage.”
We rushed outside. Parked inside was his damaged car, the front bumper smashed and stained red.
At that moment, sirens echoed down the street.
The anonymous texter had not been trying to scare me.
They had been trying to save my daughter.
