Late one night, Jessy’s stepfather received a panicked call from the eight-year-old girl, begging him to come pick her up from her father’s house without telling her mother. Running across town, he found the back door wide open and Jessy trembling in a kitchen covered in cake batter.
Jessy and I have always been close. Ever since her mother and I got married, we’ve formed a bond that feels like I’ve been a part of her life forever. She’s eight years old now, with bright blue eyes and a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. But tonight, something was wrong.
Usually, Jessy loves staying at her dad’s house. It’s not far from ours, and she enjoys baking and doing little projects with him. But tonight was different. It was late, a little after 11 p.m., when my phone rang, breaking the silence. Jessy’s name appeared on the screen.
I answer immediately. “Jessy? What’s wrong?”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please, come get me. You have to come now,” she said, sounding terrified. I could hear her sniffling like she’d been crying for a while. “And don’t tell Mom.”
My heart sank. I tried to stay calm. “Jessy, what happened? Are you okay?”
“I can’t… I just need you to come now,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please.”
Before I could say anything else, the call was disconnected.
I stood there frozen for a second, my hand gripping the phone. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. What had scared her so much? Was she hurt? Was her dad angry? Jessy had mentioned before that her dad used to have a temper, especially before he and her mom split up. He was supposed to be working on that, but what if something happened?
I wasted no time. I grabbed my keys and rushed to the car, my pulse pounding. The drive through town seemed like a blur. I pushed the speed limit, my mind racing from one possibility to another.
Stay calm,” I told myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “She’s fine. She just needs you.”
But what if she wasn’t okay? What if her dad had yelled at her or worse? Jessy had never called me that before, and it terrified me.
As I drove, I remembered the times Jessy had alluded to how angry her father got. She hadn’t said much, just small comments here and there, but I could see it still bothered her. I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind, but the knot in my stomach tightened.
Finally, I reached the house. Jessy’s father lived in a quiet neighborhood, but tonight it seemed sinister. I parked in front of it and noticed something that made my heart skip a beat: the back door was wide open.
I jumped out of the car and ran toward the house. “Jessy!” I called, my voice louder than I intended. There was no answer.
I took a step inside, my shoes squeaking on something sticky. I looked over to see cake batter splattered on the floor, frosting smeared on the counters, and whipped cream dripping from the ceiling.
There, amidst the chaos, was Jessy. She stood frozen, her hands shaking, a whip dangling between her fingers. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide with fear.
“Jessy?” I whispered, walking slowly towards her. She didn’t move. It looked like she was too scared to breathe.
I crouched down to his eye level. “It’s okay. I’m here. What happened?”
A scared girl in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
A scared girl in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
She looked at me, tears streaming down her cheeks again. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Please take me home. Dad will be furious. You don’t know him like I do… he’ll scream.”
I hugged her tightly, feeling her tremble in my arms. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it,” I whispered, trying to calm her. But inside, I was just as scared as she was.