I peer over the half wall of my cubicle towards hers, which boasts a shelf lined with an assortment of dusty trinkets, inspirational quotes printed on crinkled yellow paper affixed to the wall, and a file box I know is filled with medications, tea bags, and biscuits that expired in 2012. It’s as though she anticipates being trapped here one day and not only surviving the ordeal, but thriving.

I Hope This Finds You Well, by Natalie Sue, p. 2