Harold nodded slowly, as if he’d expected that answer. He placed a one-dollar bill on the table and said softly, “You may think I’m crazy. But when the time comes, you’ll remember this moment. Leave before it’s too late.”

Then he put on his hat, thanked her again for her kindness, and walked out into the bright morning, leaving her frozen in place—heart pounding, torn between disbelief and an unsettling fear that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

That evening, as Hannah prepared dinner, a loud crash came from the back of the house. She ran to the storage room—and gasped.

The ceiling had collapsed.

Dust filled the air as Hannah stood in the doorway, staring at the damage. A section of the storage room ceiling had caved in, scattering wet plaster and rotten wood across the floor. Her heart pounded when she realized how close the collapse had been to the children’s play area.

If they had been there minutes earlier, someone could’ve been seriously hurt—or worse.