Our conversation ended there, abruptly, as she turned her attention back to the movers. I returned home, the screen door slamming shut behind me. Inside, the silence of the house was comforting, familiar. Yet, I couldn’t shake the woman’s question from my mind.
Why are you here?
I found myself standing at the kitchen window, the view of the street unobstructed. I watched as the movers carried item after item into the house next door. Boxes, furniture, a large potted plant that seemed almost too big for them to handle.
The woman supervised, arms crossed, eyes scanning each item as it passed by. There was an efficiency to her movements, a precision that suggested she had done this before.
My phone buzzed on the counter, pulling me back to the present. A reminder for a meeting in an hour. I sighed and turned away from the window.
As I prepared for the meeting, my thoughts drifted back to the woman next door. Her question lingered, unanswered, in the back of my mind.
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