Introduction

At first, Sophie’s gifts were sweet and innocent — flowers, homemade cookies, small gestures of kindness. But when I opened the last package, a chill ran down my spine. Hidden beneath the chocolates was a message that made me reach for my phone and call the police immediately.

I had never imagined that something so seemingly harmless could unravel into a desperate cry for help.

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Beginning of the Story

It all started on an ordinary morning. I found the first gift at my door: a bouquet of bright yellow daisies, their cheerful petals contrasting with the dull gray hallway of my apartment building.

A small note was tucked between the stems:

"Just a little something to brighten your day. Sophie."

Sophie, my neighbor from apartment 4B, had always been friendly, though our interactions were brief. A quick wave in the parking lot, a polite “hello” in the hallway — nothing more than casual pleasantries.

The flowers brought a smile to my face. I put them in an old glass vase in the kitchen, where the sunlight illuminated their petals throughout the day. I even kept the brown wrapping paper, finding it too pretty to throw away.

Looking back, I should have noticed something odd from the start. The handwriting on the note was precise, but the ink had smudges, as if written by a trembling hand.

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Development

The gifts kept coming. Three days later, I found a box of homemade cinnamon cookies, tucked inside a hand-painted tin. Another note read:

"Just because. — Sophie."

I knocked on her door to thank her, but there was no answer. I could hear the TV on inside. When I called her name, her voice sounded muffled and oddly tense:

"You’re welcome! I’m glad you liked them!"

I asked if she was okay, but she quickly replied that she was just busy with work. I didn’t think much of it. People get busy, and Sophie always seemed like someone who might need her space.

The thoughtful surprises continued. A vanilla and lavender candle came next, wrapped neatly in tissue paper and placed in a beautiful gift bag. Then, a box of dark chocolates — my favorite, though I didn’t remember ever mentioning that to Sophie.

Each gift bore the same signature:

"Just because. Sophie."

I tried to return the favor by leaving a small potted plant at her door with a note. But the next day, it was gone, replaced with a note slipped under my door:

"Thank you for the thought! I can’t have plants right now, allergies. S"

Something about the message felt off. The wording was polite, but the handwriting was slightly different this time—more rushed, uneven.

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Climax

That evening, I found the box of chocolates. I savored a few pieces while unwinding on the couch. When I reached the bottom of the box, my fingers brushed against something unexpected: a folded note.

Unlike the others, this note was written on plain white printer paper, lacking Sophie’s usual floral stationery.

"Check the hidden notes in every package I gave you."

My heart pounded. I rushed to the drawer where I had kept the previous packaging. I spread everything out on the table, my hands trembling as I examined each item.

First, the brown paper from the daisies. Beneath the first layer, I found a hidden message:

"If I knock three times on the wall."

Next, I examined the cookie tin. There was nothing under the wax paper or the decorative tissue lining. But then, I noticed a small arrow drawn on the inside corner of the lid. I carefully unfolded the tin and found the next note:

"Call the police."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. My hands shook as I picked up the gift bag from the candle. I gently removed the tissue paper, and a tiny folded slip of paper fell onto the kitchen counter.

The final message read:

"Someone found me."

I murmured the notes under my breath, piecing them together.

"If I knock three times on the wall, call the police. Someone found me."

Then, I heard it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three slow, deliberate knocks from the wall that separated our apartments.

My blood turned to ice. The sound wasn’t from her door — it was from the wall. A sign only I would notice.

I pressed my ear against the wall. Silence. Then, a dull thud, like something heavy being set down. Muffled voices — one male, the other Sophie’s. Her tone was forced, overly cheerful, just loud enough to be heard.

"How did you find me, anyway?"

The man’s response was too quiet to make out.

"Oh, right, right," Sophie continued. "Small world."

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I told the operator about Sophie’s hidden messages and the snippets of conversation I had overheard.

Within minutes, red and blue lights flashed outside my window, and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. I cracked open my door just enough to see four officers approaching Sophie’s apartment.

One of them knocked firmly. “Police! Open the door!”

A man’s voice responded:

"Everything’s fine here. Just visiting a friend."

"Sir, we need you to open the door now," the officer repeated.

A loud crash echoed from inside Sophie’s apartment, followed by a muffled scream. The police knocked again, but this time, there was no answer.

I watched through the narrow gap of my door as the police forced their way in.

There was a shout, a scuffle, and then Sophie burst into the hallway. Her face was pale with terror as she looked back at the apartment.

A moment later, the officers emerged. Between them was a man I had never seen before, his wrists in handcuffs.

"You’ll never escape me!" he shouted, struggling against the officers, lunging toward Sophie. "I’ll always find you, always!"

The police led him away, and Sophie sank to the floor. One of the officers knelt beside her as she began to cry.

I didn’t think twice. I ran into the hallway and knelt next to her.

"Sophie, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" I asked, gently holding her shoulders.

Her tear-streaked face turned to me, and she shook her head. "I’m okay, thanks to you. You saved me! If it weren’t for you, I… I…"

Her voice broke, and I pulled her into a tight hug.

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Conclusion

In the hours that followed, I learned the truth.

Sophie was in the witness protection program. She had testified against her ex-boyfriend — a dangerous, violent man. Her testimony put him in prison for a series of armed robberies, but he was released early and came after her for revenge.

Sophie, or whatever her real name was, had been hiding in plain sight, knowing he was hunting her down, unable to ask for help directly. So, she created her own lifeline through simple gifts and hidden messages.

The police took him away, and Sophie was relocated, vanishing from my life as suddenly as she had appeared.

Weeks later, I received a small package with no return address. Inside was a delicate handmade bracelet of twisted copper wire and tiny blue beads — just like the ones Sophie used to wear.

There was no note, no hidden message. None was needed.

I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist, feeling a quiet connection and a deep sense of relief.

Every time I see a yellow daisy now, I wonder where she is. And I hope that, wherever she might be, Sophie is still finding small ways to bring light into someone’s world — just like she did for me.