Doctor visits turned into procedures. Procedures turned into bills that didn’t stop.
I worked longer hours, picked up extra jobs, and cut back on everything.
But it still wasn’t enough.
I was drowning again.
Life found a way to pull me under.
***
That morning, I sat at my desk, staring at another overdue notice, trying to figure out what I could delay.
That’s when the door opened.
A man in a charcoal suit stepped inside and walked toward my cubicle.
“Are you Nora?” he asked when he stopped beside me.
“Yes,” I responded skeptically.
He stepped forward and placed a small, worn box on my desk.
“My name is Carter,” he said. “I represent the estate of Arthur.”
“Are you Nora?”
The name struck me instantly. The man I’d met for 30 seconds in 1998. I’d never forgotten him and had always wondered what happened to him. I never saw him again.
“He spent years trying to find you,” Carter said. “He asked me to give this to you personally.”
My hands didn’t feel steady as I reached for the box.
“He left instructions. This was meant for you alone.”
The box gave a soft creak as I opened it slowly.
I didn’t realize that what I was about to see would prove that the homeless man I met 27 years ago wasn’t who I thought he was.
The name struck me instantly.
Inside the box was a worn leather notebook.
I opened it carefully. Every page had dates, and next to each one, a short note.
The first one stopped me cold.
“Nov. 12, 1998 — Girl named Nora. Two babies. Gave me $10. Don’t forget this.”
My vision blurred instantly, and I pressed my hand to my mouth.
I turned the page.
More entries about other people.
Different years.
Same pattern.
The first one stopped me cold.
But my name appeared more often than that of any other person.
“Never forget Nora with the two babies.”
“Must find Nora with the girls.”
