A scribble on a delivery bag sent me racing to my backyard, where I made a shocking discovery. The cryptic note from Ravi, our friendly delivery guy, may have saved my family from danger, but the threat wasn’t over.
As a single mom, I often rely on deliveries. Ravi, who’d become more than just a delivery guy, always shared a smile or a high-five with my kids, Kai and Isla. But last Tuesday, he seemed tense, handing over our food without a word and hurrying away.
“What’s wrong with Ravi?” Kai asked as we watched him drive off.
“I don’t know,” I replied, puzzled. Setting the bag on the counter, I noticed shaky handwriting on it. Reading the note, I realized dinner was the last thing I needed to think about.
