So, I was at my complex laundromat. I was the only person there. I did see a black sedan parked outside. I wasn’t concerned about that at all.

   I continued with my laundry. Something in my spirit said to look outside. I realized the man in the black sedan was watching me, and not just with his human eyes. He was watching me with the optic lens of his binoculars. At that moment, I was afraid! I shielded myself beside a set of dryers. Then I heard footsteps. My hands were sweating. I was shaking all over. I got ready to fight! The footsteps got closer and closer.

   “Ma’am, you okay?” a voice called out.

     It was the complex security guard. I was so relieved.

   “Ahh, yeah, did you see that man watching me with binoculars?” I asked.

   “The man in the black sedan?” the guard asked.

   “Yes sir,” I said.

   “Don’t worry about him. I told him if he’s not a resident, he had to leave the property,” the guard explained.

   A week later, around 9:00 p.m., I was doing my laundry. I spot Mr. Black Sedan again. He slowed down but didn’t park at the laundromat. I folded my laundry and headed out. Like a little kid, I looked both ways. I didn’t see the black sedan. Then out of nowhere, a car’s headlights lit up the darkness like a Christmas tree. Afraid, I stepped behind an apartment building, clutching my basket of clothes. When I peeped around the building, it was him.

   I finally get a first look at Mr. Black Sedan when he stepped out of his car. He was extremely tall and thin. He waited, hoping I would show my face. He paced back and forth, up and down the sidewalk.

     When he heard sirens, in anger, he punched a dent in his driver’s side door. Like a letter, he folded his tall thin body back into his car. He quickly sped away, losing a hubcap. I watched that hubcap roll down the street until it landed right side up. I ran as fast as I could to my apartment.

   The next day, I was standing at the cluster of mailboxes checking my mail. When I turned to leave, Mr. Black Sedan was staring me in the face. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak. For a moment I was lost for words.

     Finally, he speaks.

   “Samantha,” he said. “Please, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

   “How do you know my name?” I asked.

   “Can I explain, Samantha,” he said.

   “Sam,” I corrected him.

   “Okay, Sam,” he said.

   “Why have you been watching me; what do you want?” I asked.

   “Please, can I share something with you,” he said, raising both hands in the air.

   I nodded and he continued.

   “Don’t be alarmed, but I think you are my daughter,” he explained.

   “What the hell,” I yelled. “I’m not your daughter, sir.

   “Someone told me that I had a daughter living in this complex. I knew I had to find you,” he explained.

     “Sir, I don’t even know your name,” I said.

     “My name is Stan Watts,” he said.

     He pulled a crumpled black and white picture from his shirt pocket.

     “This is Sadie Ann Marshall, she was the love of my life,” he explained.

     When I looked at the picture it stunned me.

   “Wow, you’re right. There’s a remarkable resemblance,” I said.

   His aged hand wiped away a tear before it hit his cheek.

   “No, no, it’s just a mere coincidence,” I said. “I’m not your daughter.”

   “But you have to be, you’re the only family I have left,” he cried.

   “Mr. Watts, I’m so sorry, but I can prove that I’m not your daughter,” I said.

   “But how,” he wailed.

   “Wait here,” I said.

   I ran upstairs to my apartment and grabbed my birth certificate. As I walked back to Mr. Watts car, I thought, here I was nervous and afraid for nothing. Thinking all this time I had a stalker.

   “Look at this,” I said.

   Mr. Watts held the document so close to his face. I could tell he had some type of vision issue. That explains the binoculars.

   “It’s your birth certificate. And Sadie Ann’s name is not on it,” he said.

     He begins to cry with enormous intensity.

     “Please, don’t cry,” I said.

     “I’m so so sorry. I’ve caused you great distress,” he said.

    “It’s okay,” I said.

   “Can you ever forgive me, Sam?” he asked.

   “Sure,” I said. “Hey, would you like to come upstairs for coffee?” I asked.

   “That would be nice,” he said.

   That was the beginning of a long relationship. We would visit him often in the assisted living community. Mr. Watts would spend every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with me and my family. For his birthdays, mom, dad, and I would make sure every birthday was special.

     Since he had no family, Mr. Watts became part of our family. He shared some incredible stories about his sweet love, Ms. Sadie Ann Marshall.

   I cried for days when I got the call that Mr. Watts had died. Our entire family attended his funeral service.

   About a month later, I received a certified letter. The contents stated that I was the sole heir of Mr. Watts black sedan.  This news was bittersweet, but I knew Mr. Watts wouldn’t want me to be sad.

   So, now I’ll be the woman in the black sedan.

Vanessa Youngblood-Brown  is a creative writing student at Full Sail University. She enjoys writing faith-based drama and comedy.