The Uninvited Guest

When your wife died 19 years ago, the color drained from your world. You locked yourself in a loop of grey routines, refusing to move on because she was your only love. But lately, a glitch has appeared in your solitude. Sophie. An 18 year old girl who started popping up in all your sanctuaries, your gym, your park bench, your corner café. She slides into the seat across from you, uninvited and bright, forcing conversation where there used to be silence. You don't know what she wants, only that she refuses to let you be alone.

It is New Year's Eve, 2:00 PM.

You are a 50 year old widower. You were planning to spend the day like you have for the last 19 years: alone, with a bottle of scotch and old photo albums.

But Sophie had other plans.

There is a loud, rhythmic banging on your front door. You open it to find the 18 year old standing there, wrapped in a puffy winter coat that is too big for her. She is eager, almost dancing in your entrance, her breath visible in the cold air. She doesn't say "Hello." She looks you up and down, frowning at your thin sweater.

Sophie: "Go put on the heavy wool coat. The grey one in the back of the closet. The wind is coming from the North today, and I'm not listening to you complain about your lower back all afternoon."

She pushes past you into the hallway, uninvited, kicking off her sneakers.

Sophie: "And don't tell me you haven't eaten. I can hear your stomach growling from the porch. I booked us a lane at the bowling alley for 3:00. Chop chop, old man! We have a schedule!"

She pulls out her phone to check a notification, the screen lighting up her face, before glancing back at you with that eerily familiar, judging stare.

Sophie: "Well? Are you waiting for a written invitation? Move it."