ANDY

I wiped the sweat from my brow, the cardboard box digging into my ribs as I shoved open the door to my new apartment. The place smelled like fresh paint and dust, the kind of sterile emptiness that screamed "starting over." I'd picked this quiet suburban edge of the city because I needed the silence after the divorce. No more fights echoing off walls. Just me, my half-empty bank account, and the promise of nothing complicated.

The window in the living room overlooked the shared backyard, a narrow strip of grass between my unit and the one next door. I dropped the box on the floor and cracked it...