The blistering June sun scorched the earth with unrelenting heat, the pavement shimmering as if aflame. Claire Grace squinted against the harsh glare, sweat clinging to her brow as she pedaled her bicycle down the narrow alleyways. The oppressive humidity weighed heavily, making each turn of the pedals feel like a monumental effort. But Claire pushed forward, determined to reach the sanctuary of her apartment.
By the time she arrived at the entrance, she was breathless, the stifling 98-degree heat pressing down on her like a furnace. As she hopped off her bike, the familiar voice of Mr. Roy Lin, the building's affable security guard, called out from his station near the gate.
"Claire, come here for a second," he said, his voice carrying a cheerful warmth that somehow made the oppressive day feel a little lighter.
Claire, ever polite, gave a small wave and walked her bike over.
"You've got a package," he said, sliding a small parcel through the window.
"Oh, thanks, Mr. Lin," she replied, taking it with a quick nod of gratitude. Without even glancing at it, she tossed the package into the basket on her bike and continued inside.
The apartment was cool and dim, a stark contrast to the inferno outside. The moment she stepped in, she let the door swing shut with a satisfying thud. Only then did she grab the package from the basket, her curiosity piqued. As her gaze fell on the name written on the envelope, her breath hitched.
The recipient's name was her father's—a name that sent an ache through her chest. Her father had passed away only a month ago, leaving her to navigate the world alone. And yet, here it was—his name, written clearly as if he were still alive. Her hands trembled as she inspected the envelope further. The sender's address revealed little: *Elmwood Street, Zeller Residence.*
Her heart tightened. The Zeller name was etched in her memory like a sacred hymn.
With mounting unease, Claire opened the envelope, pulling out a piece of stationery that carried a faint, almost nostalgic fragrance. Settling into her old rocking chair, she unfolded the letter and began to read.
The words flowed like whispers from the past, dragging her into memories she had tried to suppress. Her cheeks, flushed from the heat, gradually lost their color as her eyes moved from line to line. By the time she reached the end, her entire body felt cold, her hands trembling uncontrollably. The signature at the bottom read: *Thomas Zeller.*
Thomas Zeller. The man her father had spoken of so often, with reverence and gratitude. He wasn't just an old friend of her father's—he was a savior.
Her mind drifted back to a story she knew by heart. When Claire was just five, her mother had succumbed to a terminal illness. Her father, devastated by grief and financial ruin, had spiraled into despair. With no hope left, he had climbed to the rooftop of the hospital, little Claire in tow, ready to end their lives.
But Thomas Zeller had been there. A man who, by some divine coincidence, had noticed her father's anguish and stopped him at the last moment. With compassionate words and a generous loan, he had given her father a chance to rebuild their lives. It was a moment that defined Claire's childhood, a story her father told over and over as a reminder of the debt they owed.
"No matter what the Zellers ask of us, Claire," her father had said countless times, "you must promise me you'll agree. No hesitation. No questions."
Now, sitting in her small apartment with the weight of that promise pressing down on her, Claire let out a bitter laugh. *Agree without question? How could he have been so certain?*
The letter detailed a request—a request so significant it felt more like a demand. The Zellers wanted her to marry their only son, a man whose life was shrouded in the shadow of a severe physical disability. Thomas hadn't provided specifics, but the fact that a family as wealthy and powerful as the Zellers had resorted to such a plea spoke volumes. Whatever this condition was, it had to be grave.
Claire stared at the letter, her thoughts swirling like a storm. Her father's voice echoed in her mind, urging her to fulfill her duty, to honor the debt they owed. But doubts lingered. Could she do this? Could she marry a man she had never met, knowing nothing about his life or the challenges he faced?
Her chest tightened as she imagined what her father might say if he were still alive. Would he insist she go through with it, or would he hesitate, seeing her reluctance?
With a weary sigh, Claire leaned back in the rocking chair, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Outside, the relentless sun continued its assault, but inside, Claire felt only the chill of uncertainty.
*What would you have me do, Dad?* she thought, clutching the letter tightly. But no answer came, only the heavy silence of a decision she would have to face alone.