I woke up the next morning feeling a little nervous, sure, but mostly excited to see my dad get married. Whatever I thought of Dana, this day was still important to him.
I rolled over and grabbed for my phone.
Gone.
Weird. Mayve I left it on the kitchen counter? I veguely remembered plugging it in before going to bed. No big deal. I got up, put on my dress and make up, and padded into the kitchen. Nothing.
No phone. No coffee. No breakfast smells. No sounds. The whole place felt… dead.
I checked the key hook. Empty. My stomach dropped a little.
I walked to the front door and turned the handle. It didn’t budge. The deadbolt was locked. I tried the back door. Same thing. Then the windows. Every single one was locked tight.
I called out, “Dana?”
Nothing. I knocked on her bedroom door. Silence.
Louder knock. “Dana? Hello?”
Still nothing.
That’s when I saw it. A bright yellow Post-it sitting neatly on the kitchen counter. Written in Dana’s handwriting with curly, try-too-hard letters.
“Don’t take it personally. It’s just not your day.”
I stood there, frozen. She locked me in. She took my phone. My keys. My voice. Like I was some kind of problem she could shut behind a door.
For a minute, I didn’t know what to do. My hands were shaking. My chest was tight. Then came the rage. I yelled her name. Pounded on the walls. Paced like a lunatic. All dressed up in powder blue, with nowhere to go.
Mascara already smudging under my eyes, I stared at the door like I could will it open. And then—thank God—I remembered something.
She took my phone. She took my keys. But she didn’t take my Apple Watch.
I tapped the screen like my life depended on it. The tiny keyboard felt impossible, but I made it work, texting my close friend who lived nearby.
Me: Tasha, pls call me RIGHT NOW. Dana locked me in. I’m not joking.
Tasha:What? Where are you??
Me:Dad’s condo. Guest room. She took my phone. Keys gone. Door’s deadbolted.
No reply for a second. Then:
Tasha:I’m already in the car. Be there in 10.
I could’ve cried. I almost did. Ten minutes later, I heard knocking. Then voices. Then the front door creaked open.
Tasha stood there in her leggings, hair a mess, eyes wide. Beside her was a shocked concierge.
“You look like you just escaped a horror movie.”
I ran to her. “She locked me in, Tasha. Like a dog.”
Tasha shook her head. “Unbelievable. You ready to crash a wedding?”
“Oh,” I said, grabbing my heels, “I was born ready.”
We jumped in her car like it was a getaway vehicle. By the time we pulled up to the venue, the wedding had already started. Soft music. Rows of guests. Dana was walking down the aisle with my dad.
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