“You’ll always be taken care of,” they said.
The words hung in the air, as if spoken only moments ago, though it had been years since I first heard them. I stood in the quiet of my kitchen, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the wooden table. It was a typical Tuesday afternoon, the kind where the world outside moved on at its own pace, unaware of the storm brewing inside.
The mail lay scattered across the table, a mix of bills, advertisements, and the occasional postcard. I sifted through them, my mind elsewhere, until a thick envelope caught my eye. It was addressed to me, the handwriting familiar yet unsettling.
I hesitated for a moment before tearing it open. Inside, a letter unfolded, its words like a slow trickle of cold water down my spine. As I read, the promises once made seemed to dissolve into the paper itself, leaving only an uncomfortable silence in their wake.
There was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts. I placed the letter down and went to answer it, my footsteps echoing in the hallway.
My neighbor, Karen, stood there, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Hey, is everything alright? You look a bit pale,” she said, her voice a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside.
“I’m fine,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Just one of those days, you know?”
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on me, not quite convinced.
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