It started like any other Tuesday — same routine, same quiet suburban calm. The kids were at school, my wife was working from the kitchen, and I was half-watching the news when the doorbell rang. It was our regular delivery guy, Ravi. He’s been dropping off food at our place for almost two years — always polite, always smiling, the kind of person who brightens your day with a “Hey boss, how’s it going?” before jogging back to his bike. But that day was different. He looked tense — distracted, almost paranoid. His usual smile never showed. He handed me...
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