Why had every single person given the same story—that they'd never seen her?

Why had every photo on my phone vanished?

"Amy, where the hell are you?!"

I was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown, screaming at the top of my lungs.

Melissa and the other flight attendants kept trying to talk me down.

"Sir, your behavior is seriously disturbing the other passengers. Please return to your seat immediately and remain calm."

I shook my head over and over. "No. My girlfriend is missing. I have to find her."

My relentless outburst forced the plane into an emergency landing at the nearest airport.

The moment the cabin door opened, several airport police officers boarded. Melissa rushed up to the one in front—a captain whose badge read Karl Gray—and pointed straight at me.

"This is the man. He boarded alone, but he insists his girlfriend vanished somewhere on the plane. He refused to listen to reason and has been causing a disturbance, disrupting every passenger on board."

I didn't want to end up in a psychiatric facility again, so I forced myself to stay as steady as I could.

"Officer, I haven't been causing trouble. I'm looking for my girlfriend. Her name is Amy Pruitt. She boarded this plane with me, and now she's gone."

"She has to still be on this aircraft. Please, I'm begging you—help me find her."

After my repeated pleas, Captain Gray finally agreed to search the plane.

They were thorough. They checked every inch. But in the end, there was no sign of Amy.

Gray studied me with a guarded expression, his voice low and even. "We've searched this aircraft inside and out. We've opened every passenger's luggage, checked every compartment. There is no girlfriend matching your description."

"A living, breathing person doesn't just vanish from a sealed airplane. Are you certain she boarded with you?"

Tears burned behind my eyes. "I'm certain."

"I took photos of the entire boarding process—us walking through the gate, finding our seats, everything. I posted them on social media and sent them to my family group chat. The posts and messages are gone now, but my parents and my friends all saw them."

The sincerity in my voice must have gotten through, because Gray picked up his phone and called my parents on the spot.

But when he asked my mother whether she'd seen the photos I'd shared in the group chat, her voice came through bewildered.

"What photos? I never saw any."

"Besides, my son has always been single. He's never had a girlfriend."

The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My head went blank.

I lunged toward the phone, disbelief cracking my voice. "Mom, what are you talking about? You know Amy and I have been together for three years! You've been waiting for me to bring her home to meet you!"

My mother went quiet for two seconds, then sounded even more confused.

"Ernest, what on earth are you saying? Your father and I nag you every year to find a girlfriend, and you always tell us you're not interested in dating."

"You've been single your entire life. How could you possibly have a girlfriend of three years?"

What was happening?

Why was my mother denying my relationship—exactly the same way she had in my previous life?

But I'd posted on social media. My friends could vouch for me.

I spun back to Gray, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "My friends can back me up. I posted about it—they all know I was flying home today with my girlfriend to introduce her to my parents!"

Gray contacted the friends I named, the ones who had commented under my posts.

Every single response came back identical.

"What post? I never saw anything like that."

"Ernest Fox? He's famously single. Always has been. There's no way he has a girlfriend."

"He and I have been best friends since we were kids. I've never once heard him mention having a girlfriend, let alone posting couple photos on social media. There's absolutely no way."

No matter who Captain Gray asked, the answer was the same: they'd never seen any posts from me.

And every single one of them was certain I'd never had a girlfriend.

But I'd seen it with my own eyes. After I posted those photos, they'd all left comments underneath, congratulating us, sending well-wishes.

What the hell was going on?

While I stood there, utterly lost, the passengers around me started voicing their complaints:

"Clearly this guy's got something wrong upstairs. He imagined a girlfriend who doesn't even exist, then threw a fit about it on a plane."

"Exactly. His own parents and friends all confirmed he's never had a girlfriend, and none of them have ever seen any photos. How does he have the nerve to scream about a missing girlfriend on a flight?"

"What rotten luck. It's the holidays, I'm trying to get home, and instead I'm stuck dealing with some lunatic who's completely derailed my trip."

"Just lock him up in a psychiatric facility already. Don't let him out where he can cause more trouble."

The grumbling swelled from every direction.

Captain Gray shook his head and gave the order:

"Take him to a psychiatric facility for evaluation."

Two officers stepped forward immediately, flanking me on either side, gripping my arms to escort me off the plane.

They dragged me forward, and despair crashed over me like a wave.

Was it possible that all of this really was in my head?

Was it possible that Amy Pruitt truly didn't exist?

Just as doubt was eating me alive, Bertram James suddenly turned to Melissa Cobb, his voice tight with urgency:

"Miss Cobb, do you have any idea when this plane will be cleared for takeoff again?"

"I'm a doctor. There's an emergency surgery waiting for me across state lines, and I simply cannot afford any more delays."

The words hit me like a bolt of electricity.

I wrenched free of the officers' grip and seized Bertram's hand, holding on for dear life.

"What did you just say? You're a doctor?"

Bertram stared at me, bewildered. "Yes. Why?"

That's it.

I shouted, my voice ringing through the cabin:

"I know where my girlfriend is!"