Sigma

The night it happened, it seemed like an impossible nightmare. There was no name on the note. No hint of identity or reason or anything. A single word, on the notes line: She. Just those three letters. The next day, I received another note. It too contained a single word: belongs. A third note, the next day. This time, two words. Four letters. To me. Ten million dollars, or our daughter would die. And then, there was a knock on my door. A sleek black limousine sat on the curb in front of my house. A driver stood in front of me, and he spoke six words: It's time to pay your debt. Would you have gotten in? I did. It turns out there is no happily ever after for us.