She would mumble something under her breath, give a quick nod, and then hurriedly make her way back inside. I started to wonder if she was just painfully shy or if something deeper was going on. But I didn’t push it—everyone’s entitled to their privacy.

One fateful day, I was going through the usual motions of collecting the mail from my mailbox after work. I was tired, thinking about the project deadlines looming over me, and absentmindedly sorted through the stack of letters. There were the usual bills, a couple of flyers, and then an envelope that caught my eye. It was handwritten, which stood out among the printed junk mail. Without thinking or bothering to read the name it was addressed to, I tore it open and began reading.

As soon as I read the opening line, I immediately reached for my phone to call the police! It turned out that the letter was meant for Ruth, but our mail carrier accidentally mixed up our mailboxes.

The first line, which almost had me frozen in place and calling the police, said:

“MOM! THEY’RE STILL HOLDING ME. JUST KNOW THAT EVERYONE’S LYING AND I’M ALIVE! BUT WHATEVER HAPPENS, DON’T GO TO THE POLICE BECAUSE…”

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