It wasn’t until later that evening, as I unpacked groceries in the quiet of my kitchen, that I noticed something unusual. The receipt had been folded slightly, and on the back, written in hurried, slanted handwriting, were four words that made my stomach tighten:
“Check your back seat.”
It was such a strange message — one that could mean anything. My mind leapt through every possibility: Was it a warning? A mistake? Some kind of joke?
But something about the neat urgency of the handwriting made me trust it. Whoever had written it didn’t sound careless — they sounded concerned.
So I grabbed my keys, took a steadying breath, and walked out to the driveway. The evening air was cool, sharp with the scent of fallen leaves. I unlocked my car, each beep echoing in the quiet street.
The Discovery
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