My husband called me at midnight to tell me not to open the door… minutes later he swore he had never called me.

A nervous laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it, because the absurdity of his warning felt unreal.

“What kind of strange joke is this supposed to be,” I asked, trying to mask my discomfort with disbelief.

“I am not joking,” he replied immediately, and the fear in his voice was unmistakable, raw and unfiltered in a way I had never heard before.

“Did something happen,” I asked, my heart beginning to race as dread seeped into my thoughts.

He hesitated, and in the background I heard a distant sound that reminded me of traffic, followed by something sharper and closer, like a car horn.

“I am on my way back,” he said. “But until I get there, you have to do exactly what I told you, and you cannot open the door no matter what anyone says.”

“Why,” I asked, my fingers tightening around the phone.

“Because your building is being watched,” he replied, and the certainty in his tone sent a chill through my entire body.

Before I could ask another question, the doorbell rang.

The sound echoed through the apartment, crisp and loud, and I froze where I stood, my breath caught halfway in my chest.

“There is someone outside,” I whispered into the phone.