For the first time in years, Clara prayed not for strength or patience, but for silence—for the past to stay buried, for the results never to come. Three days later, a crisp white envelope arrived, its logo neat and unassuming. Clara slit it open at the kitchen counter, heart hammering, only to find a polite note: Thank you for choosing our service.
Your results will arrive within one week. She exhaled shakily, relief and dread tangled into a knot. That evening, Emily leaned against the doorway, arms crossed in mock impatience. “Anything yet?” she asked. Clara folded the letter quickly, tucking it beneath a pile of unopened mail. She forced a light tone.