Night cloaked the city in uneasy silence as Emma drove home, the weight of her confrontation with Daniel's parents heavy on her chest. Their denial had felt rehearsed. Defensive. But it was the fear in Martha's eyes, the tension in Frank's shoulders, that told Emma the truth—they were hiding something.
Her headlights cut through the dim road ahead, but even that felt fragile, swallowed by shadows that stretched unnaturally long.
Her phone rang. Again.
Unknown Number.
Emma hesitated, stomach twisting. Then, slowly, she answered.
"Who is this?"
The voice came like gravel dragged across pavement.
"You should know by now, Ms. Carter."
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I already told you—I had no idea about Daniel's debts."
"That doesn't matter. What matters is, someone has to pay. And since your husband is dead... that someone is you."
Emma's pulse roared in her ears. "I don't have that kind of money."
"Then you better find it," the voice said coldly. "Because if you don't… bad things happen to people who don't pay their debts."
The silence that followed felt like a noose tightening.
Then, quietly—
"We'll be in touch."
The line went dead.
Emma dropped the phone into the passenger seat, her breath shallow, hands trembling. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
Headlights.
Bright. Close. Following.
Her stomach dropped.
"No," she whispered, speeding up slightly.
The car behind her matched her pace.
She took the next turn hard. So did they.
Panic surged through her. She scanned the street—nothing familiar, no signs of life. Then—
Her parents' house.
She yanked the wheel sharply and turned into the driveway. The car behind her sped past without slowing.
Emma sat there for a second, gasping for breath, adrenaline thrumming through her veins. Then she grabbed her bag and ran to the front door, knocking hard.
It swung open almost instantly.
"Emma?" Her mother, Linda, stood in the doorway in her robe, face lined with concern. "What's wrong?"
Emma stepped inside, locking the door behind her.
"I think I'm in danger," she said, her voice cracking.
Her father, Robert, entered from the hallway—tall, silver-haired, a retired cop with steady eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, instantly alert.
Emma pulled her coat tighter. "Daniel... he owed money. A lot of it. Loan sharks. They've started calling me. Threatening me."
Linda's hand covered her mouth. "Oh honey…"
Robert's eyes narrowed. "Did you see anyone following you?"
"I don't know," Emma said. "But it felt like someone was watching me. They were behind me the whole drive."
Robert nodded once, decisively. "You're staying here tonight. No arguments."
"Dad, I can't. I have to figure this out—"
"You will," he said firmly. "But not alone."
Emma hesitated, then finally nodded. "Okay."
Linda stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
"We'll get through this, sweetheart," she said softly.
For the first time in weeks, Emma let herself lean into it—into the warmth, the comfort, the safety. But in the pit of her stomach, dread still simmered.
Because comfort couldn't protect her from what came next.