I Went to Return My Neighbor’s Pliers – When He Opened the Door, My Legs Gave Out and I Shouted, ‘What Does It All Mean?!’

The door opened wider.

Inside, I saw… everything:

A framed photo turned facedown on the hallway table. A pale pink cardigan draped over a chair. A clear coffee mug full of hair ties, and a silver ring on the hallway table, next to a melted white candle.

None of it should’ve mattered.

But something about the way the room felt — the silence, the untouched clutter — it stirred something in me. I hadn’t even crossed the threshold, but my knees gave out like my body knew something before I did.

The pliers slipped from my hands and hit the floor.

Jake stepped into view.

“Simone?” he asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

I stared past him, at nothing and everything.

What was I even doing here?

Returning tools like it meant something? Like I meant something?

Goodness, Simone, I thought, you’re such a mess.

I shouted the words before I could even process my thoughts.

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