After I Sent My Car for Maintenance, I Was Accused of a Hit-and-run Murderer

Right after I dropped my car off at the car dealership for maintenance, I got a call from the police. They said I was a suspect in a hit-and-run case that had killed someone in the process. They claimed that I was in the middle of having sex when it happened.

By the time I rushed over, I was completely stunned by what I saw in front of me.

My car was parked on the side of the road. Its front end smashed in and the windshield shattered.

Just a few dozen feet ahead, three bodies were sprawled across a large pool of blood. Among them was a two-year-old child. They were in a horrible state.

The moment the crowd saw me, they turned into an angry mob.

“It was her! She came speeding down the road and rammed right into that family. She didn’t even hit the brakes!”

“Yeah, after a long while, she and some guy finally stumbled out of the driver’s seat with their clothes all messed up. Her lipstick was smeared all over her face.”

“She didn’t even call the police or an ambulance! Instead, she just laughed and said the kid’s head was too hard that it cracked her windshield!”

The police checked the surveillance footage at the dealership. They found that I was not recorded in there. So, there was no record of me dropping off the car. However, in the city’s traffic cameras, they saw every indiscriminating thing I had done.

When my husband showed up and heard what I was being accused of, he slapped me across the face and yelled, “How could you do something so disgusting and heartless like that?"

There was nothing I could say to defend myself. I became a disgrace, a criminal, the kind of woman everyone wanted to spit on.

This incident affected my parents. The victim's family even took justice upon their hand and killed them in a car accident.

Meanwhile, in prison, I was beaten to death by my furious cellmates.

Even in my final moments, I did not understand the reason this incident happened. I was definitely sure that I had dropped the car off at the dealership.

Why didn’t the security footage show that? Why did my car end up at the scene of the crash? Why did the traffic cams say I was crashing my car into that family when I never took that road at all?

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning I was supposed to take the car in for maintenance.

——

“Honey, there’s an emergency at the office. I’ve got to deal with a project. Can you take the car to the dealership for the tune-up later?” my husband asked.

Arnold Jefferson had just picked up a call and was immediately heading out the door.

The déjà vu hit me like a tidal wave. I realized that I had been reborn.

In my last life, I had agreed to take the car by myself. However, not long after I got home, I received a call from the dealership.

"Miss Cunnings, you missed your scheduled appointment and didn't come here. Should we cancel it and reschedule?”

I was puzzled. I was so sure I personally handed the keys at the dealership just moments ago.

The service rep on the other end sounded just as confused and asked, "Miss Cunning, you never came by today. How could you have given me your keys?”

Before I could even begin to make sense of what was happening, the police called to tell me I had killed someone.

The dealership's surveillance camera had no record of my arrival or departure, but the city traffic cameras showed a crystal-clear account of my supposed crime. It recorded my reckless speeding, how arrogant I was, the crashing and fleeing after taking lives.

In the end, I was framed as a cold-blooded killer and I died a brutal death with no justice.

I kept my head down as I processed everything silently. Arnold noticed my action, so he walked over and squatted in front of me.

“Are you mad at me? You look upset," he asked. He talked in a soft nice voice, like he was talking to a child.

As I saw the same warm appearance on his face that I had seen for ten years, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair.

After I married him, I handed the company over to Arnold and settled into a life of ease and comfort.

Whether it was work or our home life, he always took care of everything. I never had to worry about a thing.

So why today, of all days, did he ask me to take the car in? Why did such a bizarre, catastrophic thing happen the one time I did? Was it just a coincidence … or something more?

I swallowed my doubts and finally spoke, “I’m not mad. I just don’t feel well. Maybe I’ll reschedule the appointment for the car maintenance?”

Without missing a beat, Arnold pressed a hand to my forehead with a concerned look on his face. He asked, “You don’t look so good. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”