“Lawrence? It’s Julie from next door.”

The door finally opened.

Lawrence stood there in a robe, pale and irritated, one hand gripping the frame.

“I’m fine,” he barked.

“I didn’t ask.”

His eyebrows rose.

I pointed toward the mailbox. “Your mail says otherwise.”

“I can get my own mail.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Behind him, I saw the unopened prescription bag sitting continue reading …

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