Something is telling me not to report the text messages or sticky notes to the police. Part of me believes that if I make others aware of these threats, then the person behind them may simply stop making them. Once that happens, any chance at figuring out who it is may disappear. There has to be a connection between Candace’s disappearance and the threats, but I’m determined to figure it out for myself.

The kids have settled down to watch Bluey, with the false premise of Candace’s return keeping them both somewhat content. My thoughts return to the most recent sticky note. Where did I put it?

After staring off into space for a good three minutes, it suddenly dawns on me…

The fruit bowl!

I had slid it under there when Anthony entered the room after his shower. I snatch it quickly and open it up once again, the message no less intriguing. The handwriting is no less childish and angry.

Stay the fuck away from him or there will be trouble!

I recall the mention of an affair between Adrian’s teacher, Paula, and Anthony. Could she have written this?

Absolutely, I think to myself. I ponder the possibility that she could have written the note and placed it in Adrian’s backpack for me to see. I rush to the kitchen drawer where I keep important documents and open the file containing Adrian’s first quarter school report card. My eyes fall immediately on the teacher's comments on the right hand side. The handwriting, although rather sloppy, doesn’t quite match the handwriting on the note. Although upon further examination, I can somewhat conclude that the way she writes her “a’s” and “y’s” looks very similar, yet could be mere coincidence.

I glance over at Adrian and Lilly, still mesmerized by the TV. I want so badly to speak to Adrian’s teacher for myself, see if I can gather any clues or information based on her behavior towards me. Perhaps I should just hammer her with my suspicions outright and gauge her response, instead.

The thought of playing detective and solving this mystery becomes too tempting. I reach for my journal sitting on top of the fridge and start to jot down a list of to-dos:

        1) Speak to Ms. Paula.

        2) …

It’s useless. All I want to do is confront Paula. Number 2 on my list is just a blur…

I hear a playful tapping at the front door, causing me to startle. “Who’s there?”

“Dad-dy!” It’s Anthony putting on his high-pitched childish tone of voice he uses only for the kids. Adrian clambers off the couch and makes a run for the door with excited giggles, followed by Lilly, crawling steadily across the floor behind him.

Adrian opens the door cautiously and is swept up and into Anthony’s arms followed shortly by Lilly, until both kids are nestled against him, their little arms wrapped around his neck. He plants groveling monster kisses all over their necks as they squeal with delight.

I am relieved to see him. I noticed right away that he managed to find a sweatshirt to cover up that ridiculous pink t-shirt. 

“Can I have my outfit back?” I ask.

“Hi, Laura,” he begins sarcastically, “Oh, I thought you said I could keep it. Bummer…”

I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m ready to get down to business. “I need to head out real quick. Could you please watch the kids?”

He studies me for a second, then shakes his head. “You’re not leaving.”

“Why?!” I can scarcely believe what I’m hearing.

“It’s too dangerous. That’s why.”

My eyes bulge with irritation. “Give me a break! I need to head out. I won’t be gone long.”

He sets the kids down, then walks towards me. His expression is serious and commanding. All of a sudden, I feel an overwhelming sense of intimidation.

Without warning, he snatches the journal from my hand, and I begin to panic as he opens it to the exact page of my “to-do” list. His eyes narrow suspiciously as he scans the page. 

“Is this where you’re going, then? To speak to Paula?!”

I have no words for him just yet. My mind races with fear and reckoning.

His eyes drift to the sticky note I had adhered to the bottom right-hand corner of the same page. It’s obvious he is reading it, as his eyebrows furrow in disgust. But before he can confront me with more questions, he pauses and proceeds to reach into his back pocket. He holds up a crumpled wad of pale yellow paper, then stares at me, like I’m supposed to understand the significance. He proceeds to open it up and hold it next to the sticky note in the journal for comparison.

I wait as long as I can, but I can’t take it anymore. I shift back and forth on my feet. 

“What does it say?” I ask, growing more and more impatient as he refuses to answer. “Anthony…”

His eyes are wide with fear now, like a deer caught in headlights, his expression turning to panic, as he stammers the words, “We need to leave now!” 

“What?”

“Pack some things. There’s no time!”

I stand there looking back at him, stupidly. Then I look down at the kids, hovering beneath him, glancing back and forth between the two of us, waiting for some type of guidance.

I can’t move.

Anthony is about to lose it. I can sense his temper rising, the tension building, but he stops and takes a deep breath. 

“Laura?”

I nod.

“You and the kids are in danger. I need you to pack your bags and leave with me as soon as possible.” He speaks slowly and clearly.

I nod again, still unable to grip anything real. I back away slowly, still nodding. Then I come to my senses and head to the bedroom, grab an old gym duffle bag, and begin to stuff it with random clothing. My mind is numb with anxiety, my hands shaking, as I reach for more random items, stuffing in whatever I can, mindlessly. 

I grab the bag of kids clothing I had taken from Anthony’s house earlier that day and add it to my duffle, along with several diapers. Anthony grabs both kids and hoists them up into his strong muscular arms. 

He turns to face me. “We are taking my truck.”