Daniel’s offhand comment kept circling Melissa’s thoughts, not as scandal but as a puzzle. She watched her neighbors with a softer sort of scrutiny, remembering casseroles left on doorsteps, shared ladders, the way Paula always waved but never lingered. Privacy, she realized, wasn’t always a wall; sometimes it was a choice to carry one’s burdens alone. If there was a secret, it might be less about betrayal and more about survival, about someone needing a corner of life untouched by the neighborhood’s hungry curiosity.

As the night wore down, the rumor thinned into something almost weightless. What lingered instead was a quiet agreement between Melissa and Daniel: they would not be the ones to turn speculation into harm. The mystery of the mailman stayed where it belonged—in the realm of maybes—while their own resolve solidified. In choosing not to know, they discovered a different kind of intimacy: the courage to let other people remain unfinished.