I walked out at 6:00 in the morning and saw an empty spot where my brand-new Honda Accord should have been. My heart dropped straight to my stomach. I called my parents, freaking out.
Mom laughed like I’d told her a joke. “We gave your spare key to your sister. She needed a reliable car.”
My sister Megan had crashed three cars in the last few years.
I stood there in my pajamas, phone pressed to my ear, trying to process this betrayal. “Okay,” I said calmly. “Just give me a minute.”
I hung up and immediately dialed 911.
The morning air felt cold against my skin as I waited for the police to arrive. Officer Bradley pulled up within twenty minutes—a tall man with kind eyes—who took one look at my shaking hands and suggested we talk inside my apartment building’s lobby. I clutched the folder containing all my car paperwork as we sat down on the worn leather chairs near the entrance.
“Ma’am,” Officer Bradley said, “can you tell me exactly what happened?”
His pen hovered over his notepad. I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “I bought this car two weeks ago.
A Honda Accord—2024 model—silver with a black interior. I’ve been saving for three years to afford the down payment.”
My voice cracked slightly as I showed him the purchase papers, the financing paperwork with my name on it, the registration and insurance, all bearing my name alone. “I parked it in my assigned spot last night at 8:30.
This morning at 6:00, it was gone.”
“And you mentioned your parents gave someone your spare key.”
“My younger sister, Megan. She’s twenty-five.”
I pulled up her photo on my phone to show him. “My parents just told me they gave her my spare key because she needed reliable transportation.”
Officer Bradley’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“Did you give your parents permission to hand out your spare key?”
“No. Absolutely not. I never gave anyone permission to take my car.”
The words felt heavy in my mouth.
“My sister has a history. Three car accidents in the past four years. Her license was suspended until just last month.”
As if on cue, my phone started buzzing with text messages.
I glanced down to see my mother’s name flooding the screen. Don’t be dramatic, Sherry. Family helps family.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
