Although her tiny glimmer of hope was tempered by a heavy dose of skepticism, bereft of any other viable option, it was no surprise Joanne found herself going over the bound document with a pen in hand, seated at her kitchen’s counter while Wolffe pranced around, having finished eating from his bowl by her kicking feet.

But she was not ready to start filling out the questionnaire yet. Instead, her pen came up to tap idly against the side of her face, for a moment, her eyes blinked rapidly as she processed the wealth of information within its pages.

She sat up, her mind echoing an earlier thought from the previous day: could the clinic bring about her much-needed salvation?

Her perusal of the document had told her many things about the clinic and had shown her (in great detail) its many accomplishments, but it could still be an elaborate and well-thought-out ruse — something still not yet out of the realm of possibilities. After all, scammers could be highly efficient and be working in groups.

Her lips parted in mild frustration and with a sigh, she rested her chin in an upturned palm. She could not stop her mind from going in circles, rooted as she was to the metaphorical ground by expected hesitation yet urged onward by the pressure of identity loss, and haunted by the thought that she was potentially damned if she was to believe in the clinic and absolutely damned if she did not. She huffed; it seemed there was only an illusion of available options.

Finding the questionnaire within the pages, her hope was the same as always: maybe the clinic could provide the remedy to her problems. And as was usual in this sort of situation, her future depended on it.

After a while, excited yelps from her dog drew her attention from the now-completed questionnaire. Glancing briefly at the clock, she realized enough time had passed and Wolffe was positively itching for a walk. Not that she could blame the poor boy, covering a yawn as she stood and stretched her limbs. She was also in need of some fresh air — even though she thought she should be okay with the one she had earlier. Then again, there was a difference between dashing because something vital was on the line and a stroll with a happy dog.

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Besides, she needed to stop at the post office to drop off the bound document, now sealed and addressed to the clinic.

Fastening the collar around Wolffe’s neck, there was a swift swoosh of air as he sped away from her, and she struggled to keep him still enough to pick up the essentials and lock her entrance before they were off and out of the building.

It was a sunny afternoon, yet a brisk breeze came from the Southeast, and the people currently out were wrapped to brave it. Just after the noon rush hour and with light traffic lining the streets, she took her first step onto the pathway, a half-stumble as the dog gleefully faced the long walk ahead of them and pulled her along.

She regained control before she could fall over her feet by shouting his name, reminding the dog he was being walked and not the other way around.

With Wolffe suitably chastised, they continued on their way, offering greetings to any they deemed familiar when appropriate. This continued until they reached the corner post office, and though she was expecting there to be a queue (the British were fond of them), nothing could have prepared her for what was actually there.

Through the small window in the big brass door, she saw a crowd. Assuming it was a small jam of foot traffic, she waited a moment for some of the people to exit. No one did, and the reality set in that she had arrived during peak hours. This was the line for those awaiting their turn.

Sighing, she ushered an instruction to her dog to remain outside as she entered, though not before giving him a chew toy to play with.

After about fifteen minutes, the line began to finally move. Looking ahead, it seemed there was an entire senior center’s worth of people reluctantly waiting with a dozen problems and complaints each. The less patient behind her gave up and walked out, some with annoyed buffs and others with muttered words, and if it was not because of her nature — she was already here, why not see it through? — she would not have decided to stick it out.

She pulled out her wireless earbuds to listen to some songs, and with her ears covered and feet occasionally tapping to the rhythm of her favored beats, she was barely aware of the passage of time.

Soon, she was called up to the available window at the service counter, her parcel was scanned, the postage paid for, and with her luck, it would be on its way to the clinic before the end of the day.

Wandering out, she noticed that while the post officers were full of people receiving letters and parcels (or vice versa), every other business seemed languid; a calico cat dozed in the entrance of a restaurant opposite, and a vendor leaned on his chin, body slumped and features drowsy.

Quickly purchasing a drink of water from the vendor — who was visibly annoyed at the disturbance — she called out to her dog and, leash in hand and a bottle to her mouth, they made their way to the nearest park, either not wanting to return home immediately and the problems that dwelled.