Like every weekday, Monday through Friday, I was on my way to my office in the Dune Rock condominium, the high-rise building I manage. As usual, I grabbed a strong cup of coffee to kick-start my day and met with my maintenance team to go over the day’s tasks. My wife, as always, was working in the office building next door in the accounting department. It felt like just another ordinary day.

“Hey, George, good to see you again!” I greeted my maintenance supervisor.

“Good morning, boss! What do you have for me today? I’m ready to rock it!” he replied with his usual enthusiasm.

“Just the usual,” I said. “We need to check a leak in Miss Coulter’s apartment bathroom, and there’s an electrical issue in the generator room. Prioritize that and then continue with your routine.”

“You got it, boss,” George replied, already preparing to tackle the tasks.

The day turned out to be busier than expected, and I had to stay late, wrapping up paperwork for the new year’s budget. I told my wife to go home without me since I’d be at the office well into the evening.

Around 8:00 p.m., I finally shut down my computer, locked up my office, and headed down the long hallway toward the exit. The building was unusually quiet. None of the usual residents were hanging around the stairwell, and I didn’t see any security guards. The eerie stillness felt strange, but I brushed it off, too eager to get home to dwell on it.

As I reached the street, I found something odd—the road was closed off with a large wire fence. I turned around, hoping to find another exit, but wandered into an unfamiliar alley that seemed to lead nowhere. It was close to 9:00 p.m. now, and the dim streetlights barely illuminated the path. I was lost. I tried calling my wife, but my phone had no reception.

“Stay calm, Ray,” I told myself. “Just go back to the condo, back to your office. From there, you can call a taxi or figure out what’s going on.”

I retraced my steps, and when I finally reached Dune Rock, everything seemed different. It was daylight again, and there were people everywhere—company directors, staff, and even my wife.

“Excuse me, what’s going on here?” I asked, bewildered.

“Ray? Is that you?” Robert, the vice president of management, looked at me with wide eyes. “Where have you been? We’ve all been so worried.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, feeling a growing sense of unease. Just then, I felt someone hug me tightly from behind. I recognized my wife’s voice, breaking as she spoke.

“Ray, I was worried sick. You never came home, and the police have been searching for you for days,” she said, sobbing.

“Honey, what do you mean? I left the office only an hour ago. I got a bit lost, so I came back. That’s all,” I said, more confused than ever.

“Oh, Ray,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’ve been missing for 15 days.”

I pulled back slightly, staring into my wife’s tear-streaked face, trying to process her words. _Fifteen days?_ My mind reeled, unable to grasp how a single evening had turned into more than two weeks. The world around me felt distant, as if I were caught in some strange dream I couldn’t wake up from.

But as I looked around, everyone’s eyes told me the same truth: somehow, I’d been lost to time itself.

And I had no idea how—or why—it happened.