“Ma’am, we can’t provide personal information about our employees,” she said firmly.
“I don’t need details,” I pleaded. “Just tell me he’s alright.”
“Yes, he’s fine,” she replied quickly, and before I could say another word, the line went dead.
I sat at the table, staring at the receiver, my mind buzzing with unease.
If Ryan was fine, why hadn’t he shown up?
I pressed my palms to my face, telling myself not to spiral. Maybe he’d gotten sick. Still, a knot twisted in my chest that wouldn’t loosen.
***
A week later, at exactly six, the doorbell finally rang. Relief washed over me as I hurried to open the door, but it vanished the moment I saw who was standing there.
A young woman in a red delivery jacket was holding the familiar white box.
“Pizza delivery for Evelyn?” she asked politely.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, taking the box, but before she could turn away, I asked, “What happened to Ryan? He usually delivers here.”
“Ryan? Which one?”
“Tall, brown hair, always smiling,” I said quickly.
“Oh. Him. He doesn’t work here anymore. He quit,” she said, and then stepped back toward her car.
“Quit? When?” I called after her, but the wind snatched my words away.
She waved vaguely and disappeared into the rain.
Closing the door, I carried the box to the kitchen. I set it on the counter and opened the lid. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then my breath caught.
Inside, scrawled in thick black marker across the cardboard, were the words:
I Know What You Did 50 Years Ago…
The box slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the counter. My knees went weak, and I gripped the edge of the sink to steady myself.
Who could have written that? Who could possibly know?
I had buried that secret deep, sealed it away where no one could ever reach it. I had made sure of it.
Fifty years was a lifetime, long enough for memories to fade, for witnesses to vanish, for the truth to be erased.
And yet, there it was.
It wasn’t possible. No one was supposed to know. No one.
The following day, I would go to the pizzeria. I would demand answers, no matter how humiliating or desperate it looked.
I had to know who had been sending those pizzas all this time. And more importantly, I had to know who was behind that message.
***
The following morning, I arrived just after the place opened. A young woman stood behind the counter, tapping something into the register.
She looked up and smiled, though her expression faltered when she noticed my face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I need to speak with your manager.”
Her eyes flickered with unease, but she nodded and disappeared into the back. A minute later, a tall man in a pressed shirt and a sour expression appeared.
“I’m Mr. Collins, the manager here,” he said briskly. “What can I do for you?”
“Someone has been sending me pizzas every week for months. I never ordered them myself. And last night, when I opened the box, there was a message inside. A disturbing one. I need to know who’s been paying for these orders.”
Mr. Collins frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t disclose customer information.”
“Please,” I begged. “I have to know who’s been doing this.”
But he had already turned away, striding back into the kitchen.
“Wait!” I cried. “You don’t understand! I need to know!”
When I looked back at the counter, the young woman was staring at me with sympathy.
“You’re Evelyn, right?” she asked softly.
I blinked. “How do you know my name?”
Her lips curved into a sad smile. “Everyone here knew about you. You’re the woman Ryan used to deliver to every Saturday. The lonely lady with the cat.”
The words stung, but I nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Ryan was the one paying for the pizzas,” she said gently.
“Ryan?” I whispered. “Why would he do that?”
She shrugged. “He never said. If you want to find out more… I have his address.”
She scribbled on a scrap of paper and slid it across the counter. I muttered a shaky thank you and hurried out.
***
An hour later, I was standing at Ryan’s door. When he opened it and saw me, surprise flashed across his face.
“Evelyn? How did you find me?”
“Your coworker gave me the address,” I said quickly.
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