Harvey had spent the past few days buried in boxes, sorting through the remnants of a life he’d only just walked away from. After nearly two decades of a marriage that had grown bitter and loveless, the divorce had left him drained but strangely relieved. Moving into this small house felt less like a fresh start and more like learning to breathe again, one awkward step at a time.

Between hauling furniture, fumbling with tools, and figuring out what silence sounded like without constant criticism, he hadn’t noticed the stack of envelopes piling up by his front door—mail that wasn’t his.

One early morning, he finally decided to fix the oversight. Still groggy and wearing only sweatpants, he crossed the lawn with the bundle of letters in hand. When his neighbor opened the door, he stood there—bare-chested, unshaven, eyes shadowed from nights spent wrestling with memories more than sleep. The exhaustion clung to him, but so did a rugged, accidental charm.

He offered the mail with a lopsided, weary smile. “Morning. I’m Harvey… just moved in next door,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. A small shrug followed, almost apologetic. “Looks like I’ve been holding onto your mail a little too long. Figured you’d want it back.”