I remember standing near the sink, trying to rinse out my coffee mug. Suddenly, my left leg felt like it had turned to water. I did not even have time to reach for the counter.

I just went down. My head hit the edge of the cabinets, and then there was only the cold linoleum.

I lay there for hours. I could see the bottom of the refrigerator. I could hear the hum of the compressor. It sounded like a small, angry animal trapped in the corner. At some point during the night, my landline phone on the wall started ringing. It rang ten times. I remember thinking, maybe that is Karen. Maybe she has a feeling. Maybe she knows.

But when the answering machine picked up, it was a recorded voice selling duct cleaning services. I lay there in the dark and listened to a robot offer to clean my vents. I think that was the moment something inside me just folded.

By Thursday morning, I was shaking. My chest felt cold, and my vision was blurry at the edges. I knew what day it was because the light coming through the window was different. Thursday light always felt brighter.

And then, at exactly nine o’clock, I heard it. The squeak of the delivery van.

I heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden porch. I heard the rustle of the plastic bags as he set them on the bench. Then came the two knocks.

I tried to scream, but my tongue felt like a piece of dry leather in my mouth. Only a small, wet clicking sound came out.

Outside, the footsteps started to walk away. I closed my eyes. I prepared myself to d*e on that yellow linoleum, right next to the burn mark from 1984.

But the footsteps stopped. I heard him walk back to the door. He knocked again, harder this time.

“Mrs. Gable?” he called out. His voice was muffled through the heavy oak door. “Are you in there?”

Silence. I tried to kick my right foot against the cabinet, but my body refused to listen.

Then I heard the mail slot rattle. Andre had pushed it open and was looking through.

“Mrs. Gable! I see your coffee cup on the counter!” he yelled. His voice was high, panicked. “I’m calling nine-one-one. Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

He did not leave. He sat on my front porch for twenty-five minutes until the sirens started wailing in the distance. Through the mail slot, he kept talking. He talked about his biology exam. He told me about his dog, a golden retriever named Buster who kept eating his socks. He kept talking so I would stay awake. He had no idea if I could hear him, but he didn’t stop.