The room felt colder after my words.
"It was the same day I visited Aunty Bella."
That sentence hung in the air like something dangerous, something that could either save me… or destroy me completely.
One of the officers leaned back in his chair, studying me carefully, as though trying to decide whether I was telling the truth or just creating a story to protect myself.
"Everything you say now matters," he said slowly. "So you need to think very well before you speak."
"I'm telling the truth," I replied, my voice trembling but firm. "I didn't do anything. I don't even know how my number got there."
Dad let out a frustrated sigh beside me.
"This is getting worse," he muttered under his breath.
I felt that familiar ache in my chest again.
He still doesn't believe me.
The officer holding the evidence phone placed it gently on the table and turned it slightly toward me.
"Take a closer look," he said. "Are you sure you've never seen this phone before?"
I leaned forward slowly, my eyes fixed on the device inside the transparent bag. It was a small black phone—nothing special about it. No marks, no stickers, nothing that stood out.
But something about it made my stomach twist.
"I've never seen it," I whispered.
Another officer stepped forward.
"We checked the call logs and messages. Your number appears multiple times. Not just once. Not by mistake."
My heart dropped.
"Multiple times?" I repeated weakly.
"Yes," he said. "Which means whoever used this phone had repeated contact with your line."
"That's not possible!" I said quickly, panic rising in my voice. "I would remember! I don't talk to strangers like that—I don't even—"
"Calm down," the officer interrupted.
But I couldn't.
My breathing became uneven as fear tightened its grip around me.
"If your number is there repeatedly," he continued, "then either you were in contact with them…"
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"…or someone else used your SIM."
Silence.
That second option echoed in my mind.
Someone else used your SIM.
I grabbed onto that thought immediately.
"Yes!" I said quickly. "That must be it! That day my phone went missing… someone must have taken it and used it!"
"Then why return it?" another officer asked sharply.
I froze.
"I… I don't know," I admitted.
The officers exchanged looks again, this time more skeptical.
Dad shook his head slightly.
"This is not adding up," he said.
Tears burned in my eyes again, but I forced myself to stay strong this time.
"I'm not lying," I said, my voice softer now but filled with desperation. "Please… you have to believe me."
Before anyone could respond, the door opened, and another officer stepped in.
"Sir," he said, addressing the one in charge. "We just got an update."
Everyone's attention shifted to him immediately.
"What is it?" the officer asked.
"They were able to track the last active location of the phone before it was abandoned."
My heart skipped.
"And?" the officer pressed.
The man hesitated briefly before speaking.
"It was active… near this area," he said, placing a file on the table.
The officer opened it and scanned through quickly.
Then his expression changed.
He looked up—first at me, then at Dad.
"This location," he said slowly, "is very close to your residence."
Everything inside me went still.
"What?" Dad asked, shocked.
The officer nodded.
"The phone was active around your neighborhood for a significant period before it was switched off."
My hands went cold.
"That doesn't mean it was me!" I said quickly. "Anyone could have been there—our area is not empty!"
"Yes," the officer agreed, "but combined with your number appearing multiple times… it raises serious concern."
Dad stood up abruptly, pacing the room.
"I don't understand this," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Are you trying to tell me this happened right under my nose?"
No one answered.
Because the truth was… it might have.
And that made everything even more terrifying.
"Sir," one of the officers said, "we will need to investigate further. For now, she will have to remain here for questioning."
My heart stopped.
"What?" I whispered.
Dad turned immediately.
"No," he said firmly. "She's not staying here."
"Sir, this is a kidnapping case," the officer replied calmly. "We cannot take chances."
"I said she's not staying here!" Dad repeated, his voice rising.
I sat there, frozen, unable to speak.
Part of me wanted to go home, to escape all of this.
But another part of me knew…
If I left without clearing my name, things might only get worse.
"Dad…" I said softly.
He turned to me.
"It's okay," I continued, even though it didn't feel okay at all. "Let them do their job. I didn't do anything… so I have nothing to hide."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then slowly… he sighed.
"Fine," he said reluctantly. "But I'm not leaving her here alone."
The officer nodded.
"You can stay for now."
Hours passed.
Questions. The same ones over and over again.
Where were you that day?
Who did you talk to?
Who had access to your phone?
Did you notice anything strange?
I answered everything as best as I could, but nothing seemed enough.
Nothing cleared me.
As time went on, exhaustion began to take over. My head ached, my eyes burned, and my body felt weak.
Then, just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore…
Something happened.
One of the officers rushed into the room again.
"Sir," he said urgently. "They found something else on the phone."
Everyone looked up immediately.
"What is it?" the officer in charge asked.
"They recovered a deleted message."
My heart started pounding again.
"A message?" he repeated.
"Yes," the officer said. "It was sent to her number."
The room went completely silent.
"To… me?" I whispered.
The officer nodded.
"What does it say?" the man in charge asked.
The officer hesitated for a moment… then read it out loud.
"'Everything is set. Make sure she doesn't suspect anything.'"
The words hit me like a blow.
"I didn't send that!" I said immediately, shaking my head violently. "I swear I didn't!"
"We know it wasn't sent from your phone," the officer said. "It was sent to your number."
That confused me even more.
"Then why don't I have it?" I asked.
"It was deleted," he replied. "Professionally."
My chest tightened again.
Whoever was behind this…
They knew what they were doing.
"This changes things," the officer in charge said quietly.
"How?" Dad asked.
He looked at me again—but this time, his expression was slightly different.
Less anger.
More uncertainty.
"If she was receiving instructions…" he said slowly, "then she might not be the one in control."
Hope flickered faintly inside me.
"Which means," another officer added, "she could be… a target as well."
I froze.
"A target?" I repeated.
"Yes," he said. "Someone may have used her identity… her number… to cover their tracks."
The room fell silent again.
For the first time since all of this started…
I felt something shift.
Not relief.
Not safety.
But something else.
Truth was beginning to surface.
And with it came a new fear.
Because if someone really set me up…
Then that person was still out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And maybe…