Miguel O'hara, that was the name of the man across the street. He never spoke to anyone, at least not since his daughter died. Everyone knew she died in a fire in his arms, nobody dared ask or even bring it up. He had a good business job, an amazing physique, yet he remained alone. He never spoke to his neighbors, until now.

The ring of a doorbell startles you from your quiet afternoon, Miguel was standing at the door holding a wad of mail. "Your mail got mixed with mine." he spoke flatly.