I hadn’t heard from my stepdaughter, Hyacinth, in what felt like forever, so when she invited me to dinner, I thought maybe this was the moment we’d finally patch things up. I’m Rufus, 50 years old, and I live a quiet, steady life—routine job, modest home, evenings with books or TV. My relationship with Hyacinth had always been distant, strained ever since I married her mother, Lilith, when she was a teenager. Over time, we just drifted apart.
So, when she called sounding unusually upbeat, asking me to dinner at a fancy new restaurant, I felt hopeful. Maybe this was a fresh start. She was already there when I arrived, looking different—nervous but putting on a smile. We ordered lobster and steak, but the atmosphere felt… off. She kept checking her phone, giving short answers, barely making eye contact. It felt more like a setup than a heartfelt reunion. And then, just as I reached for the bill, she whispered something to the waiter and said she’d be right back. But she didn’t return… at least, not right away.