I left Rachel outside her office and drove straight to my father’s house.
He answered wearing an old sweatshirt and slippers.
His hair was messy, and dark circles rested beneath his eyes.
“Rachel has not answered me,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”
The hurt in his voice sounded genuine.
Without replying, I walked inside.
He followed me into the living room.
“Lola, what happened?”
“Someone threatened her.”
His face froze.
“What?”
I showed him the messages.
He read every one slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to fear.
“This happened after our date?”
“Yes.”
He handed back the phone.
“We should call the police.”
“I already told Rachel we should.”
“Then why are you here?”
I studied him carefully.
“Because the sender knew personal details about her. They also knew when I called.”
He stared at me.
“You think I did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
