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It started like any other errand. I grabbed a cart, moved through the aisles, checked off my list, and headed to self-checkout—routine, efficient, forgettable. Bags packed, receipt printed, I was halfway to the door when a woman hurried after me.
She held out the slip of paper I’d left behind.
I thanked her, tucked the receipt into a grocery bag, and thought nothing of it. People return lost items all the time. I loaded the car, drove home, and went about my day.
Hours later, while unpacking groceries, I pulled out the crumpled receipt—and froze.
On the back, scrawled in messy, hurried handwriting, were four words:
Check your car trunk.
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