After losing my wife, I don’t get to see my daughter as often, though we speak on the phone every day. For my 80th birthday, I decided to give myself the gift of surprising her with a visit. I drove to her house, my heart full of excitement, eager to celebrate with her. But when she opened the door, her face betrayed a mix of shock and unease.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

With a smile, I said, “I wanted to spend my birthday with you.”

Her expression tightened, and after a pause, she replied, “Dad, I’m really busy right now. This isn’t a good time.”

Though a little taken aback, I tried to reassure her. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll just sit on the sofa and wait until you’re free.”

But she shook her head, her tone firm but apologetic. “No, Dad. You can’t stay. You need to go.”

Confused and hurt, I made my way back to the car, something about her behavior gnawing at me. As I glanced back at the house, a movement inside caught my eye. Through the living room window, I spotted two unfamiliar figures moving quickly, almost frantically. My heart raced—what was going on?