When I read the note scribbled by our delivery driver, Ravi, it sent me straight to the trash cans in my backyard. I had no idea that message would lead to a night of fear and worry. It felt like he was trying to warn us, and although he may have saved my family from something dangerous, I knew we weren’t in the clear yet.
Usually, on nights when cooking feels impossible, I order food. Over the months, we’ve gotten to know Ravi well. He’s become a bit of a friend, always cheerful with my kids, Kai and Isla, high-fiving them before speeding off. But last Tuesday, he was different.
When he arrived, I saw something was wrong. He handed me the food without saying anything, his expression tense and hurried. Then he took off, not even looking back.
“What’s going on with Ravi?” Kai asked, peering down the street as Ravi’s taillights disappeared into the darkness.
I shrugged, just as puzzled as him. “No idea, Kai. Maybe he was in a hurry tonight.”
I brought the food to the kitchen and started unpacking it. That’s when I saw a scribbled message on one of the bags: “CHECK YOUR TRASH CAN.”
My stomach dropped. I quietly sent the kids to wash up, trying not to show my panic. Then I made my way to the backyard, each step slower than the last as my heartbeat echoed in my ears. Taking a deep breath, I opened the trash can lid.
Inside was a worn-out blanket, covering a set of gloves, small tools, and a bottle of some kind of liquid with no label.
Just then, Isla’s voice pulled me back. “Mom? Are you okay?”
I quickly closed the lid, forcing a calm smile. “Yes, sweetheart! Just…checking something outside. Go back in—I’ll be there in a sec.”
Back in the house, I grabbed my phone and called the sheriff’s office. Leona, the dispatcher, listened as I described what I’d found. Her voice was calm but firm. “Stay indoors, Nora. Don’t touch anything. I’m sending someone over right now.”
As I hung up, dread crept over me. Our neighborhood had recently been hit by a string of burglaries, and it dawned on me that our house might have been the next target.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door startled me. It was Leona, clipboard in hand, her eyes scanning everything. She took my statement while carefully packing up the items from the trash can. “I’ll take these to the lab,” she said, giving me a reassuring nod. “We’ll also have extra patrols around here for now.”
That night, sleep was impossible. Every creak of the house, every shadow outside made me jump. At 8 a.m. sharp, I called a security company, begging them to send someone over as soon as possible. Thankfully, they agreed, and a team arrived that afternoon to install cameras around our property.
As they worked, Leona pulled into the driveway again, holding a manila folder. Her expression was serious. “The lab results are back,” she told me. “The liquid in that bottle is a corrosive substance—often used to weaken locks. Someone was planning to break in.”
The news sent a chill down my spine. “Did Ravi see something?” I asked, hoping he might have a clue.
Leona gave me a thoughtful look. “He could have, but it’s best to be careful. If he’s around, maybe have a quick chat with him.”
I looked out the window and saw Ravi’s motorcycle parked at a nearby house. I took a deep breath and went over, with Leona close by. When Ravi saw me, he hesitated, then confessed, “I saw two men at your trash can, messing around with something. They didn’t look right. I wanted to warn you, but I thought they might still be there.”
I sighed, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. “That note you left—it meant so much. Thank you, Ravi. You may have saved us.”
He nodded, looking relieved himself, then drove off. Back inside, Leona turned to me. “We’re going to catch them, Nora. Just stay alert.”
That evening, I watched the security monitors, feeling a cautious sense of peace. I was still nervous, but knowing that Ravi and Leona were looking out for us gave me the strength I needed.
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