Wiping the tears from her eyes, she pulled the mail out of the box and tucked it under her arm. She reached deep into her purse, feeling for her keys. She knew exactly where she'd go when she got inside, and what she'd do when she opened the bedroom safe. This was the last day she'd ever have to feel the pain again. The husband who was so cruel, the friends who acted like she didn't exist, the boss who didn't appreciate her efforts, the parents who were too busy and the brother who hadn't spoken to her in years...they would all disappear in that final moment.
And the pain would subside - finally.
She fumbled for the house key as tears filled her eyes again. The mail slipped from under her arm and tumbled to the floor, scattering across the porch. She uttered a curse under her breath as she stooped to gather today's bills off of the cold, gray concrete. A large white envelope gleamed in the midst of long, skinny ones with windows. Blue ink leapt off the paper, setting this piece of mail far apart from the computer printed statements. She picked up the envelope and stepped over to the glider. Easing onto the cushion, she stared at it, debating on whether to open what appeared to be a card, with her name, handwritten.
She wedged her house key under the edge of the envelope seam and gently slid it across the top. Carefully, she removed the card from the confines of the bright, white paper. "
We all have those days when we want to throw up our hands and give up, but we don't. We get up, we dust ourselves off, and we keep going...because we know someone out there believes in us and our abilities. I Believe In You. Keep Going! You Can Do It!" It was signed by a long-time coworker.
Her heart swelled, along with more tears in her eyes, and suddenly she felt the weight she'd carried on her shoulders for so long begin to lift. Someone cared!
A tear trickled down her cheek. She sniffled, then took a deep breath before standing. Slowly, she inserted her key into the door lock and walked inside, leaving the rest of the mail on the porch floor. But the card - the precious card this person had taken the time to select, to sign, to handwrite, and to mail - went with her, into the kitchen, through the living room, and back to the bedroom. She tossed her purse onto a chair, and she leaned over the bed, opened the card, and read it again. Someone cared.
A moment later, she stood in front of the open closet door. When she reached for a hanger for her jacket, her gaze landed on the dark metal safe back in the corner. She paused for a moment, then grabbed an old robe off its hanger. Folding it carefully, she leaned inside and draped the thick material over the safe. As she stepped back and pulled the closet door shut, she whispered, "Someone cares."
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