A short story by Sofia Petterson Care The insurance company looked awfully welcoming, despite its watered-down colours and busy atmosphere. The sound of paper shuffling and the beeping from printers worked like a comforting background noise, distracting me from my unusually chaotic thoughts. I’m going to be fine. How can I tell? How could I be sure? Fine. It’s all going to be fine. Why would I be? Why me? It’s never you. It won’t be you. I disconnected myself from my own thoughts with a shaky breath. The mantra of fine never stopped, but it blended in nicely with the background noises. I enjoyed the forced silence in my head, took comfort in fiddling with my pen, occasionally drawing a squiggle on my paper. My isolated state was interrupted by my name, called out across the waiting room like a rushed procedure. I followed the no-name secretary into a room and was shoved into a seat, less comfortable than the sofa I was sitting on previously. LXVII