For My 56th Birthday, My Stepdaughter Gave Me A Pair Of Earbuds. I Was Genuinely Happy—Until I Showed Them At Work. One Coworker Leaned In For A Closer Look, And His Expression Changed. “Don’t Use These,” He Whispered. “You Need To Report This Today.” I Didn’t Make A Scene. I Took Them Off, Filed A Report, And Let The Paper Trail Do Its Job. Three Days Later…

I said it like I was talking to myself because I often do. At noon, nothing happened. At 2, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number again. This time it wasn’t Harris. It was Megan.

“Hey, Ray. Random question. Are you still thinking about selling that place in Florida?

Mom mentioned it once and it got me thinking.”

My hands went cold, but my face stayed calm. I typed back slowly: Maybe. Still figuring things out.

I set the phone down and went back to work. Fixed a door closer on the third floor. Signed off on an inspection sheet.

Drank bad coffee from a paper cup. The world didn’t end. That somehow made it worse.

That evening, Megan showed up at the house with a container of soup. Elaine was surprised. So was I.

“I was in the area,” Megan said, smiling too wide. “Thought I’d check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I said. She tilted her head.

“Mom said you sounded tired lately.”

Elaine shot me a look. “I didn’t say that.”

Megan waved it off. “I just worry, that’s all.

You know, at your age.”

There it was. Soft. Casual.

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