Chapter 3：Telltale Details
567words
"I've been thinking," she said over the phone, "maybe I should help you with some practical stuff. Like your car—it's been sitting in that parking garage for two years. Probably needs some attention."
Her tone was softer than yesterday, but this sudden helpfulness felt… calculated.
We met at the parking garage. Seeing my red Honda triggered a flood of memories. Andrew had helped me choose it, insisting the color matched my personality.
"It's probably dead after sitting for two years," I sighed. "Battery's likely shot."
Sarah pulled my keys from her purse and handed them over. "Only one way to find out."
I slid into the driver's seat. Everything felt intimately familiar—the angle of the steering wheel, the position of the rearview mirror.
I turned the key, and the engine purred to life immediately.
"What the hell?" I stared at the dashboard in disbelief. "Battery's completely charged."
"I've been maintaining it," Sarah explained. "Taking it for regular service, keeping the battery charged."
"Really?" I turned to her, genuinely touched. "Sarah, that's… thank you. I don't know what to say."
"That's what friends are for," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
I reached for the seat adjustment lever but stopped. The seat height, distance from the pedals, backrest angle—everything was perfectly set for my body.
"Do you drive my car often?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
"Occasionally," she said. "Mostly just to get it serviced. Borrowed it a few times. Hope that's okay."
"Of course. You've done me a huge favor."
Driving home, I couldn't shake a strange feeling. Everything in the car was exactly as I'd left it—the AC set to 72, the radio pre-set to my favorite station, even my emergency mints still in the cup holder.
Back in my apartment, I sank onto the couch, mentally reviewing everything. The car in perfect condition, battery fully charged…
That evening, I scrolled through my phone's photo gallery, searching for pictures of Andrew and me. But my album contained only landscapes and selfies—nothing else.
Strange. If we'd been together for two years and were engaged, wouldn't we have countless photos together?
I opened my social media accounts and checked my posts from two years ago. The last update was from September 13, 2024:
"Heading to the forest to clear my head. Hoping to find some peace out there."
Clear my head? I distinctly remembered planning a hiking trip with Andrew.
And if I truly had a fiancé, why wasn't there a single mention of him anywhere on my social feeds?
I searched my email for "Andrew." Nothing.
No love notes, no shared plans, no ticket confirmations. Nothing.
It was as if Andrew Martin had been completely erased from my digital life.
Yet I remembered everything about him with crystal clarity: his crooked smile, the way his voice deepened when he was serious, how his hands trembled when he proposed…
These memories weren't vague impressions—they were sharp, detailed, impossible to fabricate.
The next morning, Sarah showed up again, offering to help me with some "administrative procedures."
At the parking garage, she gestured to the driver's side. "You drive. I'll navigate."
I smiled tightly and started the engine. Two years had supposedly passed, yet the driver's seat remained perfectly adjusted for my 5'4" frame—a position that would be absolutely uncomfortable for someone of Sarah's 5'10" height.
