Gemotions

The doorbell rang, startling her. She opened the door to find the delivery man holding a small, brightly wrapped gift. "For Mr. Harold Finch," he said, consulting his clipboard. It wasn’t her name. Harold Finch had lived here before her, a retired teacher, she’d heard.

She took the package, the ribbon bright against her fingers. She was supposed to refuse delivery, to send it back. Her throat felt tight. He had probably gotten this for his birthday. Maybe he had a birthday coming up.

She brought it inside and closed the door. She looked at the gift, the paper crinkling slightly as she touched it. There was no return address. The silence of the apartment felt heavy as she imagined Harold Finch, alone. She tucked the package safely on a shelf, resolving to look for his new address later.