The Man Parked Between Us
Language: en
Brett was never good behind the wheel. Scrapes, dings, blown tires—he treated driving like an obstacle course he was destined to fail. So when deeded parking spaces opened up in our condo’s underground garage, he bought the spot sandwiched directly between mine and Lauren’s. They both worked for the same consulting firm, which meant they always got home an hour before I did. Every night, I’d pull down the concrete ramp to find Brett’s white sedan parked at a careless, diagonal slant, his rear tire resting comfortably four inches over my line. And every night, because my car couldn't…