Chapter 3 - THE STRANGER AT MIDNIGHTMy thumb flew across the keypad as I sent a rushed apology, telling the stranger to please ignore the message.
Another text appeared immediately, cutting off my panic.
"I can ignore a wrong number. I can’t ignore a hungry baby. What brand does she use?"
Fear tightened my chest. In a city like Indianapolis, accepting kindness from an unknown man at midnight could easily hide something dangerous or predatory. I refused to give him my address and texted back that I would figure something out somehow.
The stranger identified himself. His name was Ethan Cole.
Instead of getting frustrated, Ethan offered a compromise: he would order the formula for digital pickup under my name at a 24-hour pharmacy across town. When I explained that I had no working car and couldn't walk there in the snow, he made an offer that completely disarmed me.
He offered to drive out, buy it himself, leave the bags outside my apartment door, and walk away before I ever opened it.
To prove he wasn't a threat, he sent a clear photograph of his driver's license with his sensitive home address neatly covered, a picture of his vehicle's license plate, and a snapshot of the black SUV he was driving. Then he sent a text telling me to call the police non-emergency line and verify his license plate before trusting him with a single word.
My heart pounded. I dialed Maya directly, keeping her on speakerphone as Ethan sent live progress photographs from the grocery store aisle.
When he asked what kind of formula we needed, I specified the sensitive soy formula that came in the purple can. But when he arrived at the checkout, his cart wasn't just holding formula—it held diapers, baby wipes, infant fever medicine, extra bottles, and a soft gray stuffed rabbit.
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I texted him frantically that it was far too much, and he replied simply: "We can argue about my spending habits after your daughter eats."
At 12:24 a.m., twin beams of headlights swept across my dingy living room wall.
