I stared at my screen. A number I did not recognize had texted me once. “Look.” Then again, an image. I zoomed in, thinking it was fake at first, but then I saw it: my father, bound with rope and glaring into the camera, kept in a small room with a wooden floor. Then again: “Ha.”

I Googled the number, my heart pounding. Nothing came up. I looked up from the restaurant where I sat with my friends. They asked if I was okay and I showed them my phone.

“A prank!” One person laughed and patted me on the back.

“Probably,” I smiled, although my voice was shaking.

This was all part of the plan. I had hired someone to do this, to rid me of my overprotective father. He’d make it look like a ransom and . . . But now I second guessed myself. My father was so human in that picture, so …

I had to call it off. But as I type, fingers flying on my phone, I feel it in my heart: it’s already done.