By the time I stepped out of the clinic, the late winter air felt colder than I expected, and my lower back was already aching from sitting too long in the waiting room chairs. I remember adjusting my coat carefully around my stomach and thinking how much I wanted to get home, stretch out on the couch, and wait for my husband to return from work so we could eat dinner together like we always did.
That small peaceful plan lasted exactly thirty seconds.
My phone rang as I walked toward the elevator that led down to the underground parking garage.
The number on the screen wasn’t familiar, which made me hesitate for a moment before answering. When I finally pressed the green button, a hesitant male voice came through the speaker.
“Ma’am… is this Mrs. Elena Carter?”
“Yes, this is Elena,” I replied.
“My name is Carl,” he said slowly. “I’m the parking attendant downstairs. I think you might need to come take a look at your vehicle.”
