The train staff and even the ticketing office treated me with a subtle but cold distance.
Their polite smiles didn’t reach their eyes.
Quick glances at my daughter suggested they knew something I did not.
No one offered explanations.
Their silence was a loud warning.
Since booking the trip three weeks ago, little things had begun to pile up.
Her phone battery mysteriously drained in a matter of minutes.
A stranger had been seen near our home more than once, always watching, never approaching.
At school, I overheard hushed conversations that stopped when I entered the corridor.
Each day added tension I tried to ignore, hoping it was just paranoia.
Now, as the train rumbled forward, I was bracing for the weekend ahead—time meant for peace but now shadowed by fear.
I had a meeting with the train manager scheduled at the next stop, hoping to get some answers or at least some reassurance.
But deep down, I was already avoiding what I might discover.
The conductor’s words kept echoing: “You’re in danger.”
And I wasn’t sure how to protect us from a threat I barely understood.
I sat there, somewhere between disbelief and dread, knowing the quiet vacation I had imagined was slipping away with every passing mile.
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