“I spent almost every night there.”
“I left a note.”
Claire frowned.
“There was no note.”
“I put it through your mail slot.”
Mr. Harris suddenly shifted.
“What color envelope?”
Everyone looked at him.
He rubbed his forehead.
“Blue.”
Caleb went quiet.
“Yes.”
Mr. Harris looked horrified.
“Oh, Lord.”
“What?” Claire asked.
“The mailboxes.”
Claire stared.
“What about them?”
“Management replaced them that week.”
Mrs. Alvarez groaned.
“The old boxes were removed before anyone emptied half the slots.”
Mr. Harris nodded.
“There was a whole argument about it.”
Caleb said quietly, “You never got it.”
Claire leaned back.
“No.”
Something that had felt like abandonment for twelve years suddenly became something much smaller and more ordinary.
A note.
A replaced mailbox.
Two young people assuming the worst because neither knew what the other knew.
Claire laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes life changed direction for embarrassingly simple reasons.
