He was convinced that if he had a guardian angel, they had given up on him a long time ago. He couldn’t blame them, he would’ve too - he’d gone through so many things that were just out of his control, and probably theirs too.

Only recently had he found peace. And only recently he’d started getting signs - angel numbers, people called them - that could somehow mean that someone was looking after him.

He didn’t know why that thought reassured him. Perhaps that was religious people felt when they prayed.

He was at work - he’d found himself a job as a manager in a local store after the chaotic events that had made his life its own kind of hell - when a little white feather managed to get inside, flying all the way over to him and posing on his nose.

He froze on the spot, wide eyed and processing.