This morning, Sarah carefully zipped up the suitcase, glanced at the neatly packed items, and sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh of relief. She felt complete satisfaction, knowing everything was ready for her husband’s next business trip, with every detail accounted for. The essentials were meticulously packed, and she had thoughtfully attached a small keychain shaped like a playful monkey to the suitcase handle.
This cute accessory was meant to help James avoid mistaking his suitcase for others while traveling. “Did you pack the pants? The work pants? The ones I’ll need?” James asked, double-checking the suitcase’s contents. Lately, business trips had become routine for him.
In the past, such trips happened once a month, but now they were part of a regular schedule, with James heading to a new destination almost every week. He had already crisscrossed half the country and had grown accustomed to the rhythm. “Of course, I’ve taken care of everything,” Sarah smiled, leaning in to gently kiss his freshly shaved cheek.
“I hope your hard work pays off, and you’ll get that promotion soon,” she said.
“I’m counting on it too,” James replied with a grin, glancing at his watch. “Alright, I’ve gotta go.”
“Otherwise, I might miss the train. I’ll be back on the evening of the ninth.” He grabbed the suitcase, said one last goodbye to Sarah, and hurried out the door. Hoping this trip would bring only positive outcomes, Sarah usually stayed home during James’s trips, tending to daily chores or visiting her mother in a nearby rural town in upstate New York.
But this time, things unfolded differently. On the third day of his absence, a problem arose at their apartment in Chicago—the bathroom pipe started leaking. A thin stream of water trickled from an old, tarnished pipe, pooling into a small puddle below.
At first, Sarah tried to stop the leak herself. She recalled a helpful tip she’d found online and attempted to wrap the pipe with an old bedsheet, hoping it would at least temporarily slow the water. But her hopes were quickly dashed as the water seeped through faster, and the puddle grew larger.
The sheet became soaked and useless almost instantly. Sarah glanced at the clock with growing anxiety. It was well past midnight.
At such an hour, calling anyone other than an emergency service felt awkward. “If James were here, he’d fix it in no time,” she sighed, feeling utterly helpless.
But James was far away, and she had to handle this alone. Just in case, she dialed his number, clinging to a faint hope he might answer. All she heard were endless rings.
“He’s probably fast asleep,” Sarah thought, setting the phone down with a hint of disappointment. Meanwhile, the puddle on the tiled floor grew, threatening to spread further. It was clear the situation demanded immediate action.
In a panic, Sarah searched for the emergency service’s contact, but the numbers on old utility bills led to dead ends. Beyond the leak itself, she was haunted by thoughts of the troublesome neighbor downstairs, Jessica. This young woman was notorious for her difficult personality.
She never greeted neighbors and frequently filed complaints with various authorities. Her actions had prompted child services to visit a first-floor neighbor repeatedly, and she constantly harassed a young couple renting an apartment on the top floor with her remarks and complaints. Now, as water began spreading across the bathroom and toilet floor, Sarah was gripped by dread.
If the leak reached Jessica’s apartment, a storm of trouble was sure to follow. Likely, beyond demanding compensation, Jessica would stir up a massive scandal. Sarah knew that without James, she’d have to face it alone.
Her nervous tension grew by the minute, and she realized she couldn’t wait any longer. In a frenzy, she grabbed her phone and decided to seek help from neighbors through the building’s group chat, where residents typically discussed utility issues and shared news.
“Maybe someone can suggest what to do?” she thought hopefully, sending a message. “Good evening, everyone! Does anyone know who to call if a pipe bursts?” It was a cry for help, though honestly, her expectations were low since it was well past midnight. But a few minutes later, her phone pinged.
Filled with hope, she opened the chat and found not a reply in the group but a private message from a neighbor. “Which apartment are you in? I can come check your pipe,” he wrote. “Apartment 5, eighth floor,” Sarah replied, barely catching her breath.