I stood in my yard, scratching my head. “This is getting weird,” I muttered to myself. I checked the house again, but everything was in order.

The next morning, I decided to find out who was helping me. I got up earlier than usual and hid in the kitchen, peeking through a small gap in the door. At 6 a.m., I saw a woman climb in through the window.

She was wearing old postal worker clothes. I watched as she started washing the dishes from the night before. She then pulled out some cottage cheese from her bag and began making pancakes.

My stomach growled loudly. The woman turned around, startled. She quickly turned off the gas and ran towards the window.

“Wait, please, I won’t harm you,” I said, stepping out of my hiding spot. “You made those pancakes, right? Please, tell me why you’re doing this. Don’t be afraid of me, I’m the father of the girls and would never harm a woman, especially when you’ve helped me so much.”

The woman stopped and slowly turned to face me. I saw her face and thought she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I knew her from.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” I asked, confused.