He asked questions, listened to my stories, and kept telling me that I didn’t look my age at all.
Maybe that was exactly what I had been missing.
At some point, I admitted that it was my birthday.
Daniel looked surprised, called over the waiter, and ordered a dessert with a candle.
“You shouldn’t end your birthday alone,” he said.
After leaving the bar, we walked around the city for a long time. Eventually, he offered to accompany me back to the hotel where I had decided to spend the night rather than return home so late.
What happened next was something I had no intention of telling anyone.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to forget about my age, my children, my neighbors, and what other people might think.
But everything changed the next morning.
I woke to bright sunlight and instinctively turned toward the other side of the bed.
Daniel was gone.
At first, I assumed he had gone out to get coffee, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen either.
Then I noticed a white envelope on the nightstand.
Inside was a photograph.
It was a picture of me.
I was asleep in bed, and the photo had clearly been taken during the night without my knowledge.
My hands began to shake.
On the back, someone had written:
“Thank you for a wonderful evening. Forgive me for what I did afterward. Soon you’ll understand everything.”
I reread the words several times and immediately grabbed my phone.
Daniel didn’t answer.
Then I checked my purse and saw that my wallet was still there. My cash and bank cards were inside too.
I was beginning to think I had simply scared myself when I noticed something strange.
A small key was missing from an inner pocket.
It was the key to the safe in my apartment.
I had never told anyone about that safe except my children. Inside were my mother’s jewelry, the documents for my apartment, and cash I had been saving for years.
A chill ran through me.
But how could Daniel possibly have known about the safe?
I immediately called a taxi and rushed home.
When I reached my floor, the apartment door was closed. The lock appeared untouched.
The safe was empty.
The money, jewelry, and several important documents were gone.
I was about to call the police when I noticed another photograph on the table.
This time, it was a picture of Daniel.
But standing beside him was someone I knew very well.
My own son.
The photograph had been taken several weeks earlier.
On the back, someone had written an address and a time, along with the words:
“Your son arranged all of this.”
I stared at the message, unable to believe it.
The most terrifying part wasn’t even that a stranger had taken advantage of my loneliness and robbed me.
Far worse was realizing that our meeting at the bar probably hadn’t been a coincidence at all.
Daniel had known who I was before he ever approached my table.
Which meant that someone very close to me had helped him stage the entire thing.
