I never thought I’d miss Charlie.
For the past two years, my morning jogs had been my personal sanctuary. A way to clear my mind, push past the weight of my seven-year-old divorce, and remind myself that I was still strong, still standing. It was the one thing in my life that was completely mine—until Charlie started showing up.
Charlie, my overly friendly neighbor, had this infuriating habit of “coincidentally” starting his jog at the exact same time as me every morning. At first, I brushed it off. But then it became routine.
There he was, every day at 6:30 a.m. sharp, greeting me with a grin as if we were longtime running buddies.
“Morning, speed racer!” he’d call out, his tone way too chipper for that hour. “Ready to leave me in the dust again?”
And, of course, he always fell behind within the first five minutes, forcing me to slow down if I wanted to be polite.
Charlie talked. A lot.
He told me about his job at the local auto shop, his latest failed attempt at fixing his grandmother’s old radio, the neighbors he swore were up to something shady, and his deep love for blueberry pancakes (which, apparently, made him feel “spiritually connected” to breakfast).
I tried everything to hint that I preferred jogging alone—short answers, nodding instead of speaking, even faking a call once. But Charlie didn’t get hints.
I should have been annoyed.
And for the longest time, I was.
But then… something changed.
Without realizing it, I started waiting for his dumb jokes. For his ridiculous stories. For the way he always asked how I was—even if I gave a short answer.
Charlie became a part of my routine.
Then, one morning, he wasn’t there.
I noticed the silence before anything else.
No cheerful “Morning, speed racer!” No clumsy footsteps lagging behind me. No Charlie.
At first, I shrugged it off. Maybe he overslept. Maybe he got busy.
But as the day went on, a weird unease settled in my chest.
By evening, I found myself standing in front of his house.
I didn’t know why I was there. I had no reason to be worried. Charlie was a grown man, and I wasn’t his keeper.
Still… I knocked.
No answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Just as I was about to turn away, a woman’s voice startled me from behind.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned to find a woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a deep frown and a tight cardigan. Her sharp eyes scanned me with suspicion.
“Uh…” I hesitated. “I was just checking on Charlie.”
Her expression hardened. “And who exactly are you?”
I swallowed. “His, uh… neighbor. We jog together in the mornings.”
The woman let out a harsh laugh.
“Right,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Another one.”
Another what?
Before I could ask, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Then, to my complete shock, she left the door open—as if inviting me in.
I hesitated for all of two seconds before stepping inside.
The first thing I noticed was how empty the house felt. It wasn’t messy—just… bare. Like someone had moved out in a hurry.
The woman walked straight into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water like she owned the place.
“Where’s Charlie?” I asked, my voice tight.
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Gone.”
“Gone?”
She gestured toward the living room. My eyes followed her movement—landing on a pile of unopened letters on the coffee table.
I took a step closer.
The return address on most of them? A correctional facility.
My stomach dropped.
The woman leaned against the counter, watching my reaction.
“I take it he never told you?” she said, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Told me what?”
“That Charlie’s been in and out of prison for years.”
My mind stalled.
Prison? Charlie?
The same guy who jogged slowly just to talk to me? The same guy who once brought me a cup of coffee because I had “looked tired” the day before? The same Charlie who rambled about blueberry pancakes and broken radios?
I forced out a weak laugh. “That—That doesn’t make sense.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?”
I shook my head, trying to piece things together. “What was he in for?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Petty theft, mostly. Some fraud. A little charming the wrong women out of their savings.”
I felt my pulse skyrocket.
“What?” I whispered.
The woman folded her arms. “Look, I don’t know what he told you, but Charlie has a habit of getting… close to people. People who think they know him. And then, one day, he just—” She snapped her fingers. “Disappears.”
I stared at her.
This had to be a mistake.
Charlie wasn’t a criminal.
Charlie was Charlie.
The man who made my mornings less lonely.
The woman must have seen the doubt on my face because she let out a dry chuckle.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You think you were different. That maybe he actually cared about you.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
Because I did think that.
The woman sighed, pushing herself off the counter. “Well, good news: he didn’t take anything from you, right?”
She turned toward the front door, clearly dismissing me.
I felt frozen in place.
Had I really been so blind?
I looked around the empty house once more.
Then, just as I was about to leave, something caught my eye.
A note.
A small, folded piece of paper tucked behind the coffee table lamp.
I picked it up, my hands shaking as I unfolded it.
Only two sentences were written inside.
“Sorry I left without saying goodbye.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your morning jogs.”
Something inside me cracked.
It wasn’t much. No long explanations. No excuses.
Just a few simple words that somehow made it harder to breathe.
I left the house without another word.
But the next morning, when I stepped out for my jog…
I didn’t put my headphones in.
And for the first time in two years, I didn’t care how fast I ran.
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