Chapter 5

It was late at night when I was woken up by a loud argument coming from next door.

It was May and her son. There were loud crashes of things being smashed.

Her son yelled, "This mess is all because of you!

"I told you not to take those, but you wouldn't listen. Now look at this. The whole place is about to blow up.

"I don't care. You have to fix it yourself.

"I'm moving out tomorrow!"

Then came May's anguished, tearful screams at the top of her lungs. "You can't leave! What am I supposed to do if you leave? I'm scared..."

Then, the door slammed hard with a loud bang.

The whole world went quiet.

I lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. I wasn't feeling any sympathy at all.

I couldn't help but wonder what May would do after sunrise.

Would she come and beg me for help? Or would she end up doing something even crazier?

*****

The next day was Saturday. I didn't have to go to work, but I still woke up early.

All night, next door was completely silent.

That eerie silence actually made me feel uneasy.

Mark left early and didn't even say a word to me.

I figured he probably went to his parents' place or a friend's to get some peace and quiet.

Honestly, that was probably for the best.

At least we wouldn't have to sit there in awkward silence, both of us getting on each other's nerves.

I made myself a simple breakfast, then fired up my laptop and started working on some stuff.

Time ticked by. Around ten in the morning, my doorbell rang.

I peeked through the peephole. It was May standing outside.

She looked nothing like any version of May I'd seen before.

She'd lost that swagger from our first confrontation, and there was none of the fake politeness she usually pretended.

She was wearing pajamas so faded from washing that they were almost white. Her hair was a tangled mess, like a bird's nest.

Her eyes were deeply sunken and bloodshot.

She looked like she'd dropped a lot of weight—gaunt, exhausted, and terrified.

She was clutching something. It was a red plastic bag, heavy and sagging in her grip.

I didn't open the door. I just watched her with a cold expression through the peephole.

The doorbell rang a few more times. When I didn't answer, she started knocking.

"Claire... Come on..." Her voice was hoarse and weak, trembling a little. "I know you're home.

"Please, open the door. I'm begging you. Can we talk for a minute?"

I stayed silent.

My silence made her even more scared.

She started banging on the door harder. "Claire, open up. Open the door!

"I know you're behind this, you bitch! What the hell do you want?"

Her voice got shrill, dripping with spite.

A jumble of insults, begging, and threats all mixed together, echoing through the hallway.

I just listened, calm and detached, like I was watching a show from the sidelines.

It wasn't until May started slamming her body against the door, making those heavy, muffled thuds, that I finally spoke up.

My voice wasn't loud, but she could hear me just fine. "You want to talk? Sure. But first, you need to pay me back for everything you stole from me in cash. That's 2,109 dollars, not a cent less.

"And write me a letter of apology, admitting you stole from me.

"Slide both of those under the door.

"Once I see them, I'll decide if I want to talk to you."

The banging outside stopped. The world went quiet in an instant.

After about ten seconds, May's voice came through again, thick with tears. "I... I have the money. I'll give it to you right now."

She sounded desperate.

I heard some rustling, and then the red plastic bag was shoved bit by bit through the gap under the door.

I walked over, picked up the bag, and opened it.

Inside, it was packed with cash—bundles of bills, some crisp and new, others worn and old.

I didn't bother counting it. I knew she wouldn't dare try to deceive me now. "I've got the money. Where's your apology letter?"

May fell silent again.

Then her voice came, bitter and resentful. "I... I never learned to read or write...

"Just open the door, and I'll apologize to you in person. I'll beg you if you want."

I sneered. Even now, she was still trying to play dirty. "Can't write? That's fine. Your son can do it for you.

"Let him write it for you.

"When it's done, sign your name, put your fingerprint on it, and slide it in under the door."

"If you can't do that, then we're done here."

Outside, everything went dead silent.

I knew I'd hit a nerve.

Forcing May to admit she was a thief in front of her beloved son? That'd hurt her more than killing her.

I wasn't in any rush.

I grabbed the bag of cash, sat on the couch, and got back to my work.

I lost track of time—maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. Eventually, there was a sound from the hallway again.

This time, a folded piece of A4 paper was slowly slid under the door.

I went over, grabbed it, and unfolded it.

The handwriting was scrawled and uneven, all in black ink, with the title "Apology Letter" at the top.

The letter was straightforward. May confessed she'd acted on impulse and stolen my packages, said she deeply regretted it, and pleaded for my forgiveness.

The writing was so sloppy that it looked like something a child would scribble.

But at the end, her name was signed clearly: May Gardner.

Right next to her name was a vivid red handprint.

I looked at the apology letter, and all the frustration I'd been holding in for almost a month finally melted away.

I tucked the letter away carefully, and then walked over to the door.

I didn't open it. I just spoke through the door. "May, honestly, this whole thing was simple from the start.

"You just needed to do one thing—keep your hands to yourself."

With that, I stopped paying attention to whatever was happening outside. I headed back to my room with the cash and the apology letter.

I wasn't about to let this go, and I definitely wasn't going to help May deal with the mountain of packages piling up in her place.

Because deep down, I had this nagging feeling that things were far from over.

Those packages weren't going to magically disappear just because May paid me back and said sorry.

They were like a mirror, showing off the greed at the very core of her soul.

As long as that greed was still alive, the mirror would never shatter.