It’s always been this way.

The heady scents of softener and soap gripping the air and spinning me into a fever dream as I worked. _This isn’t anything new._

I know the atmosphere of Molly’s Dry Cleaners far more than I know my own self. The number of each rusted, whirrring machine lining the room’s walls. Each plastic bottle of solution and their chemical aromas. Each sweat-stained woman working late night shifts to return to a home of wailing children and an empty fridge.

_I know it. I know it all. _

That day had been a particularly productive one, considering that I’d gotten over a good amount of clothing freshly cleaned and pressed, blanketing them in neat plastic blue wrapping and a neon sticky note with its owner’s name slapped to its surface.

Everything is orderly. Neat. Organized.

Once my shift is over, I will take an hour long bus ride back into the nighttime clamor of the city. There awaits my drunken husband in our studio apartment, most likely sprawled across the liquor-stained couch while the television flips through buzzing chanels.

I sigh.

_Another handful of months until I can afford a divorce. _

Leon, my coworker, waves at me with a small smile before she leaves, dropping the keys onto the front counter. “Your payment is over by the cabinets. Make sure to close up, alright?”

My eyes brighten once she’s gone into the night, leaving me to hurriedly rush towards the cabinets. I’m practically beaming with joy at the sight of a freshly printed check tucked into the envelope. _Enough to begin renting my own apartment. Enough for a week full of warm meals. _

Once I break from the reverie of joy, I realize there is one final coat hanging off the rack of uncleaned loads at the periphery of my vision.

Quickly, I unhook it, running the machine one final time. I quietly dream of warm ramen and an endless night of corny 2000’s movies at home.

Before I place the coat into the machine, I run my hands through it carefully for any items inside its pockets.

I retract one hand to find a small, folded piece of parchment.

I’m no sneak, nor do I like invading other’s privacy. But it would be a simple peek at the paper. No harm would be done if I read a few simple words.

Unfolding it, I find messy ink scrawled across its front.

**_You seem awfully excited, _**it reads.

I freeze.

_What? _

_It’s a simple coincidence. _It’s impossible.

In that brief moment, I can only laugh at myself for believing such an impossibility. This couldn’t have been directed at me.

Shaking my head, I place the coat into the machine with a pounding heart._ It’s a coincidence, _I assure myself breathlessly.

It isn’t until I’m rapidly locking Molly’s Dry Cleaners up and starting towards the bus stop do I realize my phone is pinging with a notification.

_Unknown Number,_ it reads. A single message opens before me, glowing starkly against the darkness of midnight.

_It’s impolite to ignore people, you know _

_Why did you throw my letter away? _

My fingers grow clammy, smearing the screen with my sweat as I answer shakily.

**Who is this? **

_Goodness, you look terrified _

_You might miss your bus if you wait around too long_

Instantly, I glance around with fear gripping my heart. But no matter how much I try to discern something through the roads, all I see is an empty blanket of darkness.

A gasp slithers up my throat as the bus—which I’d hardly noticed—speeds by in a quick blur, leaving me distraught and shocked.

“Wait!” I call out.

The number begins to call, the ring echoing down the now deserted road, leaving me trembling in place.

“What do you want?” I shout, rage boiling me down until I’m gritting my teeth.

_“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stand in the middle of the road?” _The breathy, almost whispering voice crackling from the other line leaves me petrified. Leon’s voice. _My coworker. _

__

“What—?” I startle, only to notice the bleach-white headlights of a car flooding the streets, speeding at my rear. Its hood slams into my side, sending me soaring onto the asphalt.

All I remember, sprawled in my own growing puddle of crimson, is Leon’s face beckoning at mine, leaving the world to fade into a storm of black.

_One week later_

Through the speakers of radios and news reports, the tale of Petunia’s death encircles the air like fog—fading, but still not quiet gone.

At Molly’s Dry Cleaners, our boss—Imogen—presents a tear-stained speech in honor of her. After all, Petunia was the most adored employee.

_Was_.

I sit in pure, unbridled satisfaction at the memory of hitting Petunia’s wretched body with my car, sending her flying into her own fate of death. I’d been carful to clean up and burn her corpse, her remains now faint ash lost to the wind of the city

Now, I would finally be able to rise to the top. Get the recognition I deserve. I am no longer a measly coworker at her side.

“It truly is tragic,” I sigh, feigning sorrow in my tone as I speak to the saddened ladies. “But let us carry on in her honor, yes?”

_I will rise. _