My husband had rushed out that morning and left behind an important folder. It wasn’t unusual. His life was always packed with meetings, calls, deadlines. I grabbed the folder, buckled our son into his car seat, and drove to the address I knew by heart.
But the moment we arrived, something felt off.
The building looked neglected. The company sign was gone. The windows were grimy. Orange cones blocked part of the lot. Heavy chains hung across the main doors.
I told myself they must be renovating or relocating inside. I parked anyway. As I stepped out, a security guard appeared from a nearby booth.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m looking for Hartwell Solutions.”
He paused, then frowned. “Ma’am… that company declared bankruptcy three years ago.”
I laughed, too quickly. “That can’t be right. My husband works here. He was here this morning.”
