A Deadly Winter Retreat

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OPENING UP THE fridge, I quickly scanned it, checking to ensure I had all the ingredients to make Troy's favorite salad. I then pulled out a chopping board and knife.

Troy promised me he'd be at my apartment by 7:00 PM. I glanced down, peeking at the smartwatch on my wrist.

6:55 PM

"I have a few more minutes before Troy gets here," I muttered.

Once I finished preparing our salads, I placed the white bowls on a placemat atop the table.

Sitting at the dinner table, I patiently waited for Troy while I tapped my fingernails on the glass table.

It was getting late, so I texted him.

Trish: Where are you? Dinner is waiting.

Looking back at my watch, I realized thirty minutes passed, and our veggies were getting soggy from the dressing. That put a total damper on my night.

Why the hell would Troy not answer my calls or texts?!

I refused to wait any longer, so I delved into my salad, stabbing at the cucumber and olives with my fork and stuffing the balsamic-covered veggies into my mouth. I snuck quick peeks at my phone as I chewed, yet there were still no messages from Troy.

While I pondered what could have happened to him, my doorbell rang.

"Who is it?" I asked while holding onto the doorknob.

"It's me, babe. Troy."

Opening the door, I stared at Troy, all six-foot-two of him. His long black coat and his briefcase were soaked from the day's storm. Wet drops were enmeshed into his faded haircut.

"Come in!" I gestured as I moved out of the way so he could step inside.

"Why are you so late?" I inquired. "I texted you, and you didn't respond. I was worried." I stood there gazing into Troy's chestnut-brown eyes as I awaited his response.

"Babe, I know. I'm sorry." He said apologetically, "My battery died after work... I called a tow truck, and right after I called the tow truck, my phone died. And like the idiot I am, I forgot my phone charger at home. It's been a hectic day!" Troy explained as he unbuttoned his coat and hung it on the rack.

"I'm sorry you're having a bad day, Babe." I rubbed Troy's back as we stood there. My hand moved up and down against his soft cashmere sweater, "I made your favorite salad. I hope that cheers you up."

Staring down at his briefcase, it was dripping wet.

"It's soaked." I pointed to his briefcase. "I'll dry it off for you."

"Thanks, Trish." Troy bent his head down and kissed me on my forehead as he turned his briefcase over to me.

"Dinner's on the table. I'm taking this back to the laundry room." Troy headed into the dining room with an empty stomach while I went the opposite way, into the laundry room.

I placed Troy's briefcase on top of the washing machine. As I was doing so, an envelope slipped out of the front pocket. Staring at it for a moment, I reached down and picked it up.

The address was written in red with no return address, just like the letter that had been sent to my work address.

A moral dilemma struck me: would it be unethical for me to open this envelope?

I grappled with the question, an internal struggle between the yin and the yang, the devil and the angel. My conscience felt like a yo-yo.

In the end, I chose to open it. Slowly pulling the letter out of the envelope, I took care not to make any noise. Unfolding it, I spread it out.