Soon, he was letting himself into her house with his own key.
Each time I saw him unlock the door, my concern grew.
I tried to tell myself that Dorothy was happy. Maybe she enjoyed the attention. Maybe Alex helped with the chores I had once done. Maybe I was being judgmental because of the age difference.
But Dorothy had stopped calling me.
She no longer waved from the window or came outside to check her mailbox. Whenever I called her, she ignored the phone.
Instead, she sent short messages.
« I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. »
The first time, I accepted it.
The second time, I stared at the words for several minutes.
Dorothy usually wrote long messages full of unnecessary details. She added greetings, questions, and reminders that I should wear a coat. She never wrote like that.
I called again.
No answer.
A few minutes later, another message appeared.
« I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. »
