As my car approached the familiar curve of my driveway, I found myself casting one more glance towards the bottle of shiraz. It sat on the passenger seat, its dark contents seemingly offering a silent, comforting presence. As the car juddered across the edge of the steep driveway, the bottle wobbled slightly, as if nodding a "hello" to me in its own inanimate way.

I smiled at the quaintness of it, the small gesture bringing a brief respite from the whirlwind of thoughts that had been occupying my mind. A sip of that wine would indeed be a welcome relief after the unsettling conversation I had with Luke not fifteen minutes ago. The thought of its rich, soothing taste was like a promise of temporary escape from the unusualness of the morning.

As I pulled the car to a stop, a heaviness settled over me. I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that Luke had spun a web of lies during our interaction. To what end he might be lying, I couldn’t fathom. The uncertainty of it all gnawed at me, a puzzle with pieces that refused to fit together.

With a deep sigh, I gathered my handbag and the bottle of wine, the latter now feeling more like a companion in solitude than a simple beverage. I closed the car door with a soft thud, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet of my surroundings.

My head was bowed, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts as I made my way towards the dozen steps that led up to my front verandah. Each step felt deliberate, heavy with the weight of my contemplation and the unease that Luke's words had stirred within me. The verandah, with its welcoming familiarity, beckoned me closer, a threshold to the solace of my own home.

"You're out early," a deep, resonant voice boomed, jolting me from my thoughts as I approached the steps.

Startled, my head snapped up. There, perched casually on the low wall that hugged the perimeter of the front verandah, was a slender, fit man in his early fifties. His relaxed posture contrasted sharply with the surprise I felt. His legs dangled over the cement-rendered edge, showcasing his muscled calves that were visible beneath his knee-length navy shorts. His presence was both unexpected and familiar.

"Cody," I acknowledged, my voice tinged with wariness. "What a surprise. You haven't been by for a few weeks, I thought you'd moved on." My words were a mix of a light-hearted jest and a genuine expression of my thoughts. Cody's visits were sporadic, and his unexpected appearances always brought a blend of excitement and apprehension.

"Looks like I shouldn't have bothered," he replied nonchalantly, holding up a wine bottle of his own. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of something else that I couldn't quite place.

The corners of my mouth tugged down into a slight frown. It was unclear whether Cody hadn't heard my earlier comment or if he was deliberately choosing to ignore the remark. A part of me suspected the latter.

I hurried up the concrete stairs, the urgency in my steps reflecting my concern about his overt presence. "Come inside," I said hastily, my voice low but firm. "I've told you before not to be so obvious." My mind raced with thoughts of my parents' disapproval. They would never understand my seeing a man more than ten years my senior. Cody's casual demeanour in such a visible spot was a risk I wasn't comfortable taking. The idea of my parents finding out about our encounters was something I intended to avoid at all costs.

As I approached the front door, the key felt cool and solid in my hand. I pushed it into the lock, a familiar motion that I had repeated countless times, but this time with a heightened sense of urgency. I turned it until I heard the satisfying click of the lock giving way.

"Perhaps you should give me a spare key, then," Cody suggested, his voice close, almost in my ear. I could feel him moving in close to my side, his presence a combination of comfort and a reminder of the secrecy we had to maintain. His hand reached out, casually grabbing hold of the bottle of shiraz I was carrying.

A wave of stubbornness washed over me, and I instinctively refused to let the bottle go. "Perhaps another day," I told him, my voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of firmness. It wasn't just about the bottle; it was about setting boundaries, maintaining control in a situation that felt increasingly precarious.

I stepped inside, my movements deliberate as I made my way across the living room. I listened for the sound of the front door swinging shut behind me, a small closure to the outside world and the complications it held.

"Gladys," Cody called out from behind me, his voice echoing slightly in the space between us.

In response, I continued to the kitchen, a sanctuary within my home. I dumped my handbag onto the kitchen bench, the sound of it landing a dull thud. Beside it, I placed the bottle of wine, its presence now serving as a reminder of the complexities of my relationships - with Cody, with Jamie and Luke, and the unfolding mystery that seemed to be enveloping me.

"Gladys, I've missed you," Cody's voice was a soft murmur, a gentle sound that seemed to wrap around me.

I felt his hands firmly grasp my waist, their presence familiar and reassuring. My lips curved into a small smile involuntarily. Cody's hands had always been a source of comfort to me - large, rough from his work, yet always gentle when they touched me. But as I stood there, engulfed in his warmth, thoughts of his absence in the past weeks began to surface, turning my smile into a frown of frustration. I was determined to confront him about it, to understand why he had stayed away.

"Where have…" My words were cut off as I spun on my heels to face him. His lips met mine unexpectedly, soft and insistent. The contrast of his rough stubble against the smoothness of my skin sent a shiver through me. His tongue pushed gently against my lips, seeking entry, and I found myself responding, opening my mouth slightly to welcome him. A wave of exhilaration shot up my spine as our tongues found each other, moving together in a familiar dance that we had shared many times before.

But even as I lost myself in the kiss, a part of me was aware of his hands moving behind me. I knew Cody well enough to anticipate his next move - he would attempt to lift me up. As much as I was drawn into the moment, I wasn’t ready to surrender completely to the intensity of our reunion just yet. I needed answers, clarity about where we stood.

With a mix of reluctance and resolve, I pulled my face away from his, breaking the kiss abruptly. The suddenness of my action forced him to retreat, his hands falling away from me. There was a brief moment of silence, a pause in the air as we both processed the interruption.

"I'm sorry," Cody's voice carried a hint of regret. "I've had to travel for work the past week. I should have contacted you." His apology hung in the air, a confession mingled with an unspoken promise of better communication.

I shrugged in response, a nonchalant gesture that belied the deeper acceptance I had come to. The truth was, I didn't care so much that he had been missing for a week or that he hadn't contacted me. Over time, I had come to understand and accept these gaps in our communication as just part of the nature of our relationship. It was our unspoken agreement, a rhythm we had fallen into.

Cody leaned in to kiss me again, his movements instinctive, drawn by the familiar pull between us. But this time, I wasn't ready to give in to the moment.

"Cody, stop," I insisted firmly, pushing my hands against his chest. The need for space, for a moment to collect my thoughts, was paramount.

Cody looked at me, his expression forlorn, a mix of confusion and concern etched on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

I shook my head, struggling to articulate the maelstrom of emotions and thoughts swirling inside me. "Nothing," I replied, my voice betraying the turmoil I felt. "I just have a lot on my mind at the moment, that's all." It was a half-truth; there was something bothering me, but it was tangled up in a web of thoughts about the day's earlier events and my own internal conflicts.

I felt the gentle touch of his hands as they made their way up my spine, a soothing gesture that was so characteristic of Cody. "You can talk to me, Gladys," he encouraged softly.

I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of everything I was holding back evident in the sound. "I'm sure it's nothing," I said, trying to reassure both him and myself. But the effort of keeping my concerns to myself was proving to be more challenging than I had anticipated.

"Well, with a sigh like that, it doesn't sound like nothing," Cody prodded, his intuition picking up on the unspoken words behind my sigh. His persistence, while comforting in its intention, only served to remind me of the complexity of my current situation.

Feeling the need for some space, both physically and mentally, I gently pushed myself out of Cody's arms. Without a word, I made my way to the cupboard – the one where I kept the wine glasses. The thought of a glass of wine seemed like a small, yet comforting respite.

As I reached for the cupboard door, Cody's voice halted me. "It's a bit early for that, isn't it?" His tone was light, but it carried an underlying note of concern.

I paused, my hand lingering on the cupboard handle, and rubbed at my left temple. "I suppose it is just a little early," I conceded with a reluctant sigh. Despite my desire for the comfort that the wine promised, I recognised the truth in his words. I stood there for a moment, my back to Cody, lost in silent thought as he began rummaging through the pantry.

"But hang on," I said suddenly, a realisation dawning on me. I turned around to face him. "Didn't you bring wine too?" My question was more of a statement, a recognition of the irony of the situation.

Cody pulled his head out of the pantry, a look of mild surprise on his face. "I thought we could share it later," he replied. His words hinted at a plan, a suggestion of spending more time together, perhaps in a more relaxed setting.

"Hmm," I mused, my gaze drifting past Cody into the depths of the pantry. The wheels in my mind were turning, trying to piece together the puzzle that had been presented to me earlier. "I..." I began, my voice trailing off as I abruptly turned back towards the bench. I was wrestling with whether to delve deeper into the matter that had been bothering me. I had never known Luke to lie to me before. What reason would he have to start now? The question nagged at me, causing lines to wrinkle across my forehead as my brow furrowed in thought.

In a sudden impulse, I spun around, the need to express my thoughts overriding my hesitation. "I just had a rather strange conversation with Jamie's partner," I blurted out, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them.

"Ah, Luke?" Cody's voice came muffled, his head still buried in the pantry, searching for something.

I couldn't help but smile at his response. "Yes," I replied, a touch of amusement in my voice. "You're starting to remember them all then." It was a small, light moment in the midst of my brewing concerns.

Cody poked his head out of the pantry, a broad smile on his face. "And what did Luke say?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"He said that Jamie was sick," I stated plainly, watching his reaction closely.

Cody cocked his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a dry smile. "Well, that hardly seems strange," he remarked. "I'm sure Jamie has been sick before."

I frowned. Surely, he knew that wasn't what I meant.

In a flash of recollection, I remembered the tangible evidence of the day's oddities I had unwittingly carried with me. Rushing over to where I had dropped my handbag, I quickly rummaged through it. "But then he gave me this really weird list," I said, my voice laced with confusion. I pulled out the folded paper and handed it to Cody.

He took it from me, unfolding it with an air of curiosity. As he scanned the list, he casually remarked, "Looks like he has plans to build something." His tone was light, almost dismissive of the strangeness I felt about the list.

But then, as Cody finished reading, I noticed a change in his expression. His eyes widened, a look of recognition flashing across his face, as if he had stumbled upon something I hadn’t seen. My frustration simmered. How could Cody possibly know more about this than I did?

"He said it was a surprise for Luke's birthday," I added, trying to piece together the puzzle out loud.

"But he didn't say what he was building?" Cody asked, his gaze lifting from the list to meet mine.

"No," I replied, feeling a sense of urgency to get ahead of any assumptions Cody might be making. Before he could offer an explanation I was certain he couldn’t have, I blurted out, "And he also gave me his brother's credit card." I watched Cody's face closely, eager to see how he would react to this piece of information. There! I thought to myself, almost triumphantly. Let's see if your mind thinks that bit makes sense.

Cody looked up at me, his expression thoughtful. "And where was his brother?" he inquired, echoing the very question that had been nagging at me.

"No idea. I didn't see him. But I didn't think to ask until after I'd already left," I admitted, feeling a twinge of regret for not having been more inquisitive at the moment.

"That is quite odd," Cody agreed, his tone now reflecting a hint of the concern I felt. "I think you should help him." His advice, though well-intentioned, felt like an oversimplification of the complicated scenario I was entangled in.

The suggestion left me momentarily speechless, my mouth agape as if my thoughts had physically weighed it down. "What? Help him? Why?" I exclaimed, the question echoing my incredulity. The idea seemed ludicrous given the bizarre circumstances.

Cody chuckled, his laughter light in the midst of my confusion. "So many questions," he said, still amused. "I'm sure Luke has a good reason for it all." His casual dismissal of my concerns, wrapped in that easygoing demeanour, both frustrated and perplexed me.

We stood there, locked in a moment of silent confrontation, his gaze challenging me to counter his logic. But my mind, instead of finding a rebuttal, drifted back to the wine glasses in the cupboard and the bottle of shiraz sitting on the bench. What harm could it do for me to help Luke? The question lingered in my mind, a rational voice trying to cut through the fog of confusion.

"You've already got the week off work anyway, don't you?" Cody's voice broke into my thoughts, practical as always.

"Yeah, but…." I started, a torrent of buts and what-ifs swirling in my head.

Cody shrugged nonchalantly. "May as well," he said. "It's not like you're spending your own money." His logic, straightforward and unencumbered by the doubts clouding my mind, nudged me towards a decision.

Almost persuaded, I let myself be drawn into Cody's embrace, his chest a solid presence that grounded me. My pulse began to sync with the rhythmic beats of his heart as he planted a light kiss on my head. A smile crept onto my lips, a small surrender to the comfort he offered. "You can stay here and wait for me to get back," I murmured into his chest. "The cats would like it." The thought of Cody keeping company with my feline friends added a touch of normalcy to the day's strange events.

Cody's arms tightened around me, his embrace both reassuring and exciting. My heart raced with the realisation that this would be the first time I'd allowed Cody to remain alone in my house. It felt like a significant step, a gesture of trust and intimacy that we hadn't explored before. The decision carried a weight of its own, a symbol of the evolving nature of our relationship amidst the complexities of my current predicament. As I stood there, enveloped in Cody's arms, a sense of resolve began to form within me. Perhaps helping Luke, despite the oddity of the situation, was the right thing to do after all.

Having left Cody at home to form a bond with Snowflake and Chloe, I found myself making a sharp left turn into the rent-a-truck carpark. As I parked the car and shut off the engine, a wave of incredulity washed over me.

What the hell am I doing here? The question echoed in my mind, a reflection of the absurdity I felt. This errand, involving renting a truck, seemed more suited to my father's expertise than mine. I had always found trucks intimidating, their size and mechanics far removed from my comfort zone. Not even small ones appealed to me, and yet here I was, about to rent one.

Stepping out of the car, I closed the door with a soft thud, taking a deep breath to steel myself for the task ahead. The small bell atop the front door of the rental office gave a cheerful little jingle as I entered, a stark contrast to my apprehensive mood.

Inside, the well-groomed man behind the counter was engrossed in a conversation with another gentleman, so much so that he didn’t even glance up at my entrance. I hesitated for a moment, taking in the surroundings of the office – it was a realm far removed from my usual daily environments.

Resigned to the task, I made my way forward and stood a few feet behind the gentleman currently being served. The need to wait my turn only added to the surreal nature of the situation. Patience, not one of my stronger virtues, would have to be my companion in this unexpected journey.

As I stood there, waiting, a myriad of thoughts ran through my mind. The list from Luke, the mysterious use of Paul's credit card, Cody's casual encouragement, and now this – renting a truck for a purpose of the shopping trip ahead of me. It felt like I was a character in a strange story, each step taking me further into an unfolding plot I couldn’t quite predict. Yet, there was a part of me that was curious about where this path would lead, a part that was slowly embracing the adventure despite the initial reluctance.

How hard could it really be to hire a truck? I stole a fourth glance at the time on my phone, feeling the minutes ticking away with an almost tangible weight. I turned my face slightly, making an effort not to stare too intently at the man's back who was still at the counter. This is getting ridiculous, I silently scolded, the irritation bubbling inside me. What the hell's taking them so damn long!

"Next, please, ma'am." The sudden call to attention made my shoulders give a little involuntary jump. I hadn't noticed the gentleman in front of me leaving the office, so lost was I in my thoughts and impatience. I could feel my face growing hot with a mix of embarrassment and nervousness as I approached the front counter.

"I need to hire a small truck," I managed to say, my voice steadier than I felt. As the words left my mouth, I gulped nervously, the reality of what I was doing suddenly hitting me.

"For how long?" the man behind the counter asked, his tone professional and detached.

"Umm. Just one week," I replied, a hint of uncertainty in my voice. Doubt crept in as I spoke. I wasn't really sure how long Luke needed the truck. Is one week long enough? Or do I just need one day? The uncertainty made me second-guess myself, and I wished I had clarified with Luke beforehand.

The service man, seemingly oblivious to my internal turmoil, looked down and began thumbing through the short stack of booking sheets in front of him. His actions were methodical, routine, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside me.

As I waited anxiously at the counter, the service man flipping through his booking sheets, my mind was ensnared in a storm of questions and doubts. Was I being overly cautious by renting a truck for a week? The thought nagged at me, making me second-guess my decision. And more importantly, was I overstepping boundaries by involving myself so deeply in what was essentially Jamie and Luke's project? This uncertainty gnawed at me, intertwining with a sense of apprehension about the role I had unwittingly assumed.

A glistening bead of sweat, traitorously revealing my inner turmoil, slithered its way along my hairline and traced a path behind my ear. I was acutely aware of it, a physical manifestation of the anxiety bubbling inside me.

"That'll be fine," the man behind the counter finally said, breaking into my thoughts. He looked up and pushed a form toward me. "I just need you to complete the form and sign the bottom."

My gaze shifted to the form laid out before me, a tangible symbol of the commitment I was about to make. Hastily, I wiped my sweaty palms along my jeans, trying to rid myself of the nervous moisture that had accumulated. "Sure," I replied, my voice betraying a hint of the nervousness I felt.

"Oh, and I need to take a copy of your driver's license too," the service man added.

Another gulp involuntarily formed in my throat. Why do I feel so nervous? I questioned myself internally. It's not like I'm doing anything illegal. But the act of handing over my license, a part of my identity, to this stranger for something I wasn't entirely sure about, made me uneasy. I carefully extracted my driver's license from my purse and handed it over, my fingers lightly brushing against the laminated surface. I watched intently as the service man walked over to the copier, the mundane task somehow amplifying the surreal nature of the situation.

"How do you want to pay for it?" he called out, his attention still partly on the copier as it hummed and whirred in the background.

I paused for a moment, contemplating. I may as well pay now and get it over with. "By credit card will be fine," I replied, my voice steady. In my mind, I was calculating the credit available on Paul's card, assuming there would be ample funds for the remaining purchases. The use of someone else's credit card for a transaction so significant felt strange, almost illicit, despite the permission I had been given.

As I waited for the service man to finish with the copier and return to the counter, I found myself grappling with the implications of my actions. Using Paul's card for such a transaction was a leap of faith based on Luke's assurances, a trust I was placing in their relationship and the vague details I had been given. The situation, once simple, had grown more complex, and with each step I took, I felt further entangled in a web of intrigue that was Luke and Jamie's project. My role in it, initially a favour for a friend, was now morphing into something much larger, a commitment that I was still trying to fully grasp.

The man behind the counter prepared the EFTPOS terminal, and I opened my purse with a sense of trepidation. My fingertips lightly brushed against Paul's credit card, hesitating for a moment. A flurry of anxious thoughts raced through my mind. Would the man behind the counter pay any attention to the name on the card? Would he be suspicious and ask me difficult questions? The possibility of scrutiny made my hands grow clammy with nervous anticipation.

If I tap it quickly enough, the guy wouldn't even see the name on it, I reassured myself, trying to quell the rising anxiety. With a quick, almost reflexive motion, I grabbed Paul's credit card and tapped it against the terminal, swiftly withdrawing it out of the man's view. My heart pounded in my chest, echoing the rapid pace of my actions.

The terminal responded with an unpleasant churning sound, a mechanical noise that seemed to resonate with the churning of my anxious stomach. For a moment, I held my breath, hoping that the payment would go through without issue.

But as I stood there, mentally rehearsing the PIN code in preparation for entering it, the service man's stern voice broke through my concentration. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone firm, "The machine seems to have failed." My heart sank at his words, a wave of panic washing over me. The failed transaction felt like a spotlight on my already suspicious behaviour, amplifying my anxiety.

"Oh," was the only sound I managed to muster, a meek response that belied the turmoil inside me.

"I'll try it again for you. We often have connection issues with this machine. Mostly we just end up needing to insert the card," the service man explained in a matter-of-fact tone. He extended his hand, waiting for me to hand over the card.

Staring at his open palm, another bead of sweat slid down my forehead, tracing a path of my growing anxiety. I could feel my heart pounding, each beat echoing a silent plea: Don't look at the name. Don't look at the name.

Reluctantly, I placed Paul's credit card into his waiting hand. My eyes followed the card as he held it near the bottom of the machine, my entire focus narrowed down to that small plastic rectangle and the potential disaster it held.

Nearly there, I thought, a silent chant of hope as the man prepared to insert the card into the machine. But then, he stopped. He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. I could almost hear the unspoken question forming in his mind, his doubts finding shape.

Before he could articulate his suspicions, I jumped in quickly, my voice laced with urgency. "My boyfriend's," I blurted out, the lie tumbling out of me in a desperate bid to deflect his scrutiny. "He's finally moving in with me," I added, attempting to paint a picture of normalcy.

As the words left my mouth, I felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Relief that I had offered an explanation that might satisfy his curiosity, and guilt for weaving a story that was far from the truth. The situation I had found myself in was spiralling, each step requiring more deception and quick thinking. I stood there, tense and alert, waiting to see if he would accept my explanation or if my hastily constructed lie would crumble under further questioning.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived as the man pushed the credit card into the terminal. "As long as you know the pin code," he said with a nonchalant shrug, pushing the terminal towards me.

My heart was racing as I forced a nervous smile onto my face. When prompted, I cautiously typed in the PIN code, my fingers trembling slightly. The machine, seemingly in tune with my anxiety, gave another suspicious churn.

Shit, I thought, a silent prayer to the machine. Don't you dare fail me again. The tension was palpable, a thick cloud hanging over the small transaction that had taken on such monumental importance in my mind.

"All good," the man finally stated, a simple declaration that felt like a massive relief. He pulled out the credit card and printed a receipt, handing both over to me.

"Thank you," I managed to say softly, my voice barely a whisper. As I took the card and receipt, I discreetly released the breath I hadn’t even realised I was holding. The tension in my body eased slightly, but the relief was short-lived.

Just then, another man, taller and thinner, walked in from a side door. "That was good timing," the service man declared, turning back to me. "Garry will take you to collect the truck," he said, motioning me in Garry’s direction.

With the transaction finally over, I gave a quick, somewhat shaky smile and walked over to greet the man named Garry. My mind was still reeling from the stress of the past few minutes. The fear of being caught, the fabrication of a story, and the success of the transaction had left me feeling a mix of relief and disbelief. As I approached Garry, I tried to compose myself, to appear calm and collected despite the inner turmoil I had just experienced.

Sat in the driver's seat of the small truck, I found myself parked outside the large hardware store, which was bustling with activity. The task had already taken far longer than I had anticipated or hoped, and a sense of urgency began to gnaw at me.

Realising I needed to update Cody, I grabbed my phone to send him a text message, telling him not to wait for me. My fingers fumbled over the small characters on the screen as I typed C-O-D-Y. But then, a wave of confusion washed over me. Where's Cody gone? My contact list was void of his number. With a sigh of annoyance, I closed the unsent message. "I really need to get that man's phone number," I muttered to myself, a mix of frustration and self-reproach shaking my head.

Determined not to spend any more time on this errand for Luke than absolutely necessary, I quickly set about enlisting the help of a store person to gather all the items on Luke's list. The task was straightforward but tedious, and I was keen to get it over with.

After the nerve-wracking experience with hiring the truck, and the anxiety it had stirred within me, I decided to play it safe when it came to payment. Despite the availability of Paul's credit card, I chose to use my own to pay for the goods. I didn't want to risk another close encounter or stir up any further suspicion. I reassured myself that I would get Luke to reimburse me later. Considering the amount of time and effort this task had taken, I was already contemplating suggesting a few bottles of wine as part of my compensation.

I brushed the dirt off my hands and smeared them down the front of my jeans. Hardware and trucks were dirty work. I turned away to protect my eyes from the young helper's exposed bum crack, as he bent down to stack the last timber post.

As I watched the store person load the last of the items onto the truck, a sense of accomplishment mingled with exhaustion washed over me. The day had turned into a series of unexpected challenges and personal tests. Yet, here I was, managing it all, albeit with a bit of improvisation and quick thinking. The task had pushed me out of my comfort zone, but it also showed me a resilience I wasn't sure I possessed. With the truck now loaded, I felt strangely confident that I was ready to face whatever would come next in this strange, unfolding saga.

"So, what's ya plans with all this stuff 'ere?" the young store employee asked with an air of casual curiosity as he jumped down from the back of the small truck.

Caught off guard by his question, I quickly gathered a response. "My husband's building a small chicken coop," I said, injecting as much confidence into my voice as I could muster, despite the uncertainty that gnawed at me.

"A chicken coop?" he repeated, his voice rising in surprise before breaking into a loud, hearty laugh. "Lady, you could build a whole chicken farm with this much stuff."

As his words sank in, a sharp churn twisted in my stomach, an unpleasant reminder of my own doubts and the absurdity of the situation. His laughter, although not malicious, underscored just how out of my depth I truly was.

"But good luck with it anyway," the young man said, his laughter subsiding as he walked off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stood there for a moment, staring into the back of the truck, filled with supplies that suddenly seemed overwhelmingly excessive. So not a chicken coop then... The realisation brought a mix of confusion and despair. I was deeply entangled in a project I knew so little about, a pawn in a game whose rules and objectives were unclear.