our condominium building in Southlake, Texas.
For several moments, I didn’t recognize my surroundings.
The overhead lights seemed unusually bright.
My thoughts felt sluggish.
And I couldn’t remember anything about the final part of the drive.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard.
11:08.
I had walked out of my office in downtown Dallas at 9:40 that evening.
The trip home normally took less than half an hour.
Yet more than an hour had passed without a single clear memory.
I looked toward the driver’s seat.
Empty.
Marcus, my husband’s younger brother, was nowhere to be seen.
I sat there trying to piece together what had happened.
Then an unsettling thought returned.
This was the fourth time.
Four separate evenings.
Four rides home with Marcus.
Four occasions when I’d suddenly become so sleepy that large portions of the journey disappeared from my memory.
And every time, my
