I woke up at 3:00 in the morning from shaking my phone. . Seventeen missed calls from my daughter. And one message that shocked me all over my body: Daddy, help! Come quickly!!
I jumped out of bed in seconds. I didn't even put on decent shoes. I just grabbed my keys and drove like a madman through the abandoned streets. My heart was pounding all the way down my throat. A thousand horrible scenarios flashed through my head as I raced to her house.
When I barged in the door, my daughter and her fiance looked confused from the couch.
Daddy? What are you doing here at this hour? She asked.
You texted me! You called me!I said, with my hands shaking, I held my phone up.
She was frowning her eyebrows. No, I didn't. But when I showed her the message, her face turned all pale. She whispered, barely audible: "Daddy..." this is Helen's phone number.
For a moment, everything was fading around me. Helen. My youngest daughter. The one I lost in a car accident last year. She was only 19. My sweet girl with the happiest smile.
My daughter's eyes met mine, and we both stood still there bewildered, full of grief. I felt that old wound crack again, raw and sharp.
I went outside to catch my breath, but before I could get back on my feet, another message came in. This time I was nailed to the ground.
