I thought my days were all the same: black coffee in my old copper pot, crosswords, and the neighbor who insisted I needed her more than I wanted. But the morning the postman knocked with a bundle of letters lost for twenty years, everything changed. I always wake up at six a.m., even if I have nowhere to go.

Old habit from my years at the post office. Once your body gets used to early mornings, it won’t let you sleep in. My alarm clock is the creak in my knees and the complaints in my back.

Some people meditate, some scroll through the news on their phones. Me? I brew coffee in my father’s old copper cezve.

And yes, I drink it black, no sugar. My dad used to say,

Whether he was right or not, it had become my ritual. The moment I sat down with my paper, the window sighed.

That’s Gloria peeking in from her yard. She always knows when I’m awake. I swear she sets her watch by my coffee.

“Morning, Walter!” Her voice was like a kettle just before it whistles. “You’re up early. Again.”

“Gloria, it’s called discipline,” I muttered behind the paper.

“Some of us have it.”

Five minutes later, she was already at my porch with a basket. Inside: buns and jam, innocent-looking, but I knew better. They were her ticket inside.

“Thought you could use some company,” she said, handing me the basket. She chuckled. “Walter, you can’t spend all your days with puzzles.

This house is too big for one person. You need someone here. Someone like… well, me.”

I set the basket down on the step.

“You mean someone to boss me around? My late wife already held that title.”

“Don’t be cruel. I care about you.

Who else checks if you’ve taken your pills? You think Ray, the postman, will do that?”

As if on cue, a knock thundered at the door. Gloria frowned, annoyed at the interruption.

I opened it and blinked at the sight of Ray holding a thick bundle of envelopes in both arms. He shifted on his feet, sheepish. “Well, uh… there’s been a bit of a mishap at the depot.

Some letters… didn’t get delivered. For a while.”

“Speak clearly,” I barked. “How long is a while?”

Before I could reach for the letters, Gloria darted forward and snatched the bundle from his hands.

“That can’t be! All these addressed to—” She stopped herself, clutching them tight. “Gloria, give them here,” I said.

“Gloria! They’re mine.”

I tore the bundle from her grasp. The envelopes were yellowed, corners worn, but every one of them bore my name.

My heart hammered as I ripped one open with trembling fingers. Inside — a child’s uneven handwriting. “Dear…”

The room spun.

My knees buckled, and I sank into the chair by the door. Gloria’s voice rattled on — something about scams, tricks, but I didn’t hear her. I clutched the letter, the words swimming before my eyes.

“I have to go,” I whispered. “I have to go. Now.”

I shoved the rest of the letters under my arm and reached for the hook by the door where my car keys still hung, a little rusty Ford emblem.

Gloria gasped and planted herself between me and the door. “Where are you even planning to go? You don’t know what’s waiting for you.

All you know is you’ve got me here taking care of you. Who else do you think you matter to, huh?”

I brushed past her. “Apparently, someone who wrote every year for twenty years.”

“And what if it’s a lie?

What if they wanted something from you — money, this house? You’ll make a fool of yourself!”

I pocketed the keys. She stamped her foot like a child.

“One day you’ll realize I’m the only one who truly cares for you!”

I turned back just long enough to meet her eyes. “If that’s true, Gloria, then you’ll be happy for me.”

And with that, I stepped onto the porch. My old Ford sat in the driveway, sun glinting off its dusty hood like it was waiting for me.

I slid into the driver’s seat, set the first opened letter on the passenger side, and gripped the wheel. The engine coughed, sputtered, then roared awake after a few stubborn tries. Behind me, Gloria shouted something I couldn’t hear.

I stepped on the gas. For twenty years, someone had been calling out to me in ink and paper. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I finally had somewhere to go.

***

I drove with both hands clamped on the wheel. My chest felt tight, but I pushed on, telling myself it was just the excitement. Then the pain came sharper, sudden, under my ribs.

My hands slipped, and the Ford swerved toward the shoulder. Everything blurred. Horn, sky, the smell of burnt rubber…

And then nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling was white, the air smelled of antiseptic, and someone was adjusting a drip near my arm. A nurse muttered, “You’re lucky, old man.”

Lucky wasn’t the word. Because the next voice I heard was Gloria’s.

I groaned, trying to sit up. “I have to go. You don’t understand.

I have to keep driving.”

Gloria leaned closer, her smile too sweet. “The doctor said it’s nervous exhaustion. And the keys to your car?” She dangled them in the air.

“They gave them to me. For your own good.”

I stared at her. “You behind the wheel, Gloria?

That’s more dangerous than me with a bad heart.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t joke. You’re not going anywhere.

I’ll take you home where you belong.”

“I’m not going home.”

I pulled the IV out with a wince and swung my legs to the floor. “That’s not a problem. There are plenty of other cars in this world.