At dinner, my daughter quietly slipped a folded note in front of me. “Pretend You’re Sick And Get Out Of Here,” it read.

Sarah had always been a watchful child, far too quiet for a fourteen-year-old. She absorbed everything around her without saying much. At first, her relationship with Richard had been rocky, which was normal for a teenager adjusting to a new stepfather. But slowly, they seemed to find some common ground.

Or at least, that’s what I believed.

That Saturday morning, Richard had invited his business partners over for brunch. It was a big deal—they planned to discuss the company’s expansion, and Richard was determined to make a strong impression. I’d spent the entire week getting everything ready, from the menu to the tiniest decorative details.

I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the salad when Sarah walked in. Her face was drained of color, and there was something in her eyes I couldn’t place at first—tightness, worry.

Fear.

“Mom,” she murmured, approaching like someone trying not to draw attention. “I need to show you something in my room.”

Richard walked into the kitchen right then, adjusting his expensive tie. He always dressed impeccably, even for casual events at home. “What are you two whispering about?” he asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Nothing important,” I replied automatically. “Sarah is just asking for help with some school stuff.”

“Well, be quick,” he said, checking his watch. “The guests arrive in thirty minutes, and I need you here to welcome them with me.”

I nodded, following my daughter down the hall. As soon as we entered her room, she shut the door quickly, almost too abruptly. “What’s wrong, honey? You’re scaring me.”

Sarah didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed a small piece of paper from her desk and put it in my hands, glancing nervously at the door. I unfolded the paper and read the hurried words: Pretend to be sick and leave. Now.

“Sarah, what kind of joke is this?” I asked, confused and a little annoyed. “We don’t have time for games. Not with guests about to arrive.”

“It’s not a joke.” Her voice was just a whisper. “Please, Mom, trust me. You need to get out of this house now. Make up anything. Say you feel sick, but leave.”

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