Chapter 5
The group of men froze in confusion.
"What do you mean? A month ago, didn't a young woman move in here?" one of them asked.
"She looks like this!" Another held up a photo of me.
The neighbor squinted at the image and nodded. "I've seen her. She lived in the next building over. But ever since her husband died, I haven't seen her. Are you her friends?"
The men immediately sensed something was off. Grabbing the neighbor, they pressed him for answers.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Her husband is Charlie, and Charlie is alive and kicking! How could he be dead? Don't tell me she paid you off to mess with us!"
"Call her out right now! Charlie has fully recovered, and today's their wedding day! If her drama ruins the auspicious timing, the ceremony will be delayed again!"
Raising their voices, they began shouting deliberately toward the neighbor's door. The neighbor, who had recently returned from another settlement, was utterly bewildered.
"I don't even know who this Charlie is," he said, exasperated.
Convinced I was hiding inside, the men barged past him, shoving their way into his home. The neighbor tried to stop them, but it was too late.
"You people are unbelievable," he muttered. "You don't even know where your own friend lives, and now you're making a scene? Her husband's dead, for heaven's sake. The last time I saw her, she was dealing with a bunch of wedding stuff. Poor woman. She seemed really heartbroken, sorting through all those albums and wedding photos. You could tell how much she loved her husband. What a pity."
The words hit the group like a slap. They knew how I cherished every memory with Charlie. Even the pull-tab from a soda can he once jokingly used as a ring—something so trivial—had been carefully stored in a high-end case as if it were a treasure.
But now, hearing that I had thrown out bags upon bags of couple-related belongings, they began to realize something was seriously wrong.
Just then, the locksmith they had called arrived and made quick work of the door.
They stormed inside, only to find the apartment barren, untouched since the day they and Charlie had decorated it. Everything was exactly as it had been left—the same arrangements, the same furnishings. Even the roses they had placed in the vase were now dry and withered.
The men exchanged uneasy glances. Their faces paled.
Without wasting a second, one of them called Charlie.
"Charlie, something's wrong…"
"What is it?" His voice, impatient, crackled through the line.
"She never moved in. The place is completely untouched. And—get this—she's thrown away every single thing tied to your six years together. The photos, the albums, the wedding pictures—gone!"
"What?" Charlie's tone sharpened. "That's impossible! She told me she bought a seaside villa. Maybe she's already moved there!"
"Charlie, send us the address right now. We'll bring her wedding dress over."
On the other end of the line, Charlie froze. A realization hit him like a blow: he had no idea where the supposed seaside villa was.
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