Strength After Him

Chapter 11 - The Unknown

“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts,” the captain’s voice echoed. The lights flickered. My child sat next to me, silent and tense. Somewhere nearby, a baby screamed. As the turbulence eased, I turned to Ivy and whispered, “It’s okay now,” brushing her hair back gently.

The busy city welcomed us home, its streets alive with movement and noise. The taxi slowed in front of Ms. Maria’s apartment as the driver dropped her off. She waved, and then disappeared from our view. The busy city welcomed us home, its streets alive with movement and noise. The taxi slowed in front of Ms. Maria’s apartment as the driver dropped her off. She waved, and then disappeared from our view.

We got to our apartment, and it felt colder than I remembered. The scent diffuser had kicked in, welcoming us back, but the space felt untouched, like life had paused the moment we left. I had to check everything to make sure it was in order. Ivy walked into her room. My heart pounded, not just from exhaustion, but from something I couldn’t explain. I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on settling in after a long trip.

********

It was a bright Monday morning. Ivy was awake early, eager to return to school. While she had her breakfast, she brought up the question about her father again, reminding me not to forget my promise. I assured her we would talk about it at the right time. I packed her lunch box, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and dropped her off at school. When I got to the studio, I was the first to arrive, but something felt off in my office.

My latest collection, which I had carefully arranged on the wall, had been disturbed. One of my paintings, the very one I had poured my soul into, was missing.

I moved around the studio, my eyes tracing every corner. Checking the clock, I realized my receptionist hadn’t shown up yet. I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed her number, my fingers tapping anxiously against the sleek surface.

I dialed her number countless times, but she wasn’t picking up. “Pick up your call.” Come on,” I muttered.

Finally, she answered. “Hello, where are you?” It’s 9:24 a.m., and you’re yet to resume work.”

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” she said. “My mom had an emergency at the hospital.” I’ve been there for the past two days.”

My voice rose, sharp and fast. “It would have been helpful to let me know you wouldn’t be in the studio,” I hissed into the phone, pacing as my free hand clenched into a fist. She then said she had sent an email, but I hadn’t responded.

“When you didn’t hear from me…” My voice dropped, low and trembling just beneath the surface. “And you didn’t think to call?”

“I’m sorry…” Her voice came out slightly. “I’ve been running around lately.” My mom is having emergency surgery tonight.”

My anger shifted, twisting into concern. I closed my eyes briefly. “Your mom?” I asked, my voice softer.

“Yes, ma’am. It was an emergency. I never knew it would get this serious.

I told my receptionist to make sure her mom was fine before she returned to work. I asked her about the missing frame, but she said that before she left the office, everything was intact. She sounded surprised to learn that a piece of the collection was missing.

My mind began to race. Does it mean someone had entered the studio to take something? But the security here was tight. I started searching around my office, checking everywhere, maybe it had fallen, or maybe I had moved it somewhere else. Another thought crept in: what if my receptionist wasn’t telling me the truth? But she had insisted everything was intact. “I’ll wait till she gets back,” I whispered to myself, sinking slowly into my chair. I opened my laptop to check the emails waiting for a reply. To my surprise, the inbox was a mess, unattended and cluttered. My voice rose in frustration, “How could she leave everything this untidy?” What was she even doing while I was away?”

Scrolling through, one email caught my eye. It wasn’t from a customer. The subject was vague, and the message read that he was aware I wasn’t in London and could see I was doing well for myself. He ended it by telling me to keep it up. The email felt strange, especially because it was sitting in my spam folder. It had nothing to do with business. I stopped working on my laptop and leaned back in my chair, my body sinking into the cushion. Fear gripped me, crawling slowly up my skin. My eyes darted back to the screen as if the words could change. What was happening? Who could that be, watching me so closely?

Before I knew it, my phone lit up with a private number. I felt reluctant to answer, there was no name, but thinking it might be business, I picked up. “Hello?” I said, more than once, but no one spoke. The silence on the other end was heavy, almost unsettling. I ended the call. Minutes later, the same number rang again. Still, nothing but silence. It happened over and over until I finally decided not to pick up anymore. I couldn’t understand what was going on. A few minutes later, my phone beeped. A message flashed across the screen: I know you won’t pick up your call. Just to let you know that I am watching you closely.

“Watching me closely?” I muttered aloud, my chest tightening. I shot up from my chair, hurriedly packed my things, locked up the studio, and left. Staying there alone no longer felt safe.

On my way home, I called Maria and told her everything, the strange emails, the silent calls, the messages. Her voice tightened on the other end. “Ava, it’s obvious.” Someone is stalking you. You need to act fast and report this to the police."

I changed my direction and headed straight for the police station instead of going home. At the front desk, I explained everything, the strange calls, the text, and the email. They asked for my phone, took down the details, and promised to track the number. A few minutes later, the officer looked up and explained that the caller wasn’t in London.

“We’ll monitor it,” he said firmly. “For now, just continue with your normal life.” If anything new comes up, report it immediately.”

I nodded, but the words did little to ease the weight pressing on my chest.

I left the police station with their words echoing in my head: “Everything will be under control.”

But stepping into the sunny afternoon, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was still watching. My phone buzzed while driving to pick up Ivy from school, another unknown number. I froze, staring at it. Whoever it was, they hadn’t stopped, and I am not ready to pick up the call.