Sarah Leland could never shake the feeling of invisibility. Maybe invisibility wasn’t the right word. It was more like being seen through. Even as she stood on the cusp of forty, it haunted her. She had no close friends, her colleagues having made no effort to extend their relationship outside the workplace. When she attended social gatherings, which was rare and typically limited to work events, she was detached, running out of things to say very quickly and then either standing or sitting in one place, observing the conversations of others but not participating. She’d dated only a handful of times — she could quite literally count all her lifetime dates on one hand. Her “love life” consisted of flirting with men at work and fantasizing what it might be like to be their girlfriend, which never happened, either because she was too shy to make a move or because her crush never reciprocated her feelings.

All of this understandably led Sarah Leland to the conclusion that she wasn’t very important to anyone. How else to explain why her colleagues hung out together without ever inviting her? Or how everyone in her department was in some stage of a relationship — dating, engaged, or married — except for her? Or how virtually no man in her entire life had ever come on to her first? What Sarah most wanted to know was who to blame for this. Did her “friends” and coworkers not value her, did they find her uninteresting and unlikeable, or had she simply not put in the effort to build strong, long-lasting relationships? Her parents, when they were alive, always pointed to the latter. People will like you once they get to know you, they’d said in kindergarten, in elementary school, in middle school, in high school, in college over the phone. You can’t expect to just sit at your desk or in your apartment or in the sandbox or at the swings or at your desk or in your dorm and have people drawn to you like a magnet. Sarah thought that there might be something to this. At the same time, she felt that she had taken the initiative on several occasions, only for things to go nowhere.

She knew how to settle the matter once and for all — she would stage her own death. First, she submitted an obituary to the local newspaper, which said that she’d died from a stroke caused by an undiagnosed blood clotting condition. Then she adopted the persona of Alice Wintermeier, attorney and executor of Sarah’s will. Acting as Alice, she notified her workplace of her death and made arrangements for a funeral. She even attended it, under an elaborate disguise consisting of a bobbed wig, a conservative black pantsuit — which both fit the somber occasion and strayed from her typical multicolor wardrobe — big square glasses, and stacked heels to make her look taller. Despite initially feeling that Alice Wintermeier didn’t look different enough from Sarah Leland, no one saw through the disguise. This was either a compliment to her efforts at deception, or a condemnation of everyone who knew her.

The results of her con surprised her. Virtually everyone from her job attended the funeral. During the wake, Alice drifted through the room, listening in on their comments about Sarah. Everyone talked about her positively. They noted her professionalism — she never missed a meeting, always completed assigned tasks on time or early, made sure others did their fair share, always asked questions when unsure, took the input of others seriously, and never badmouthed her coworkers. Some said that she had great taste in fashion and regretted not telling her often enough. One man even admitted that he’d been attracted to Sarah for a while and had planned on asking her out the day she died. At least four or five people were visibly in tears when the casket was lowered, arguably the hardest thing Sarah had had to arrange. It had involved, among other things, sneaking bags of cat litter into the coffin until it weighed almost as much as her.

After the funeral, Sarah Leland returned to her apartment. Removing the facade of Alice Wintermeier, she declared the experiment a success. They really do like me, she thought. One guy even wanted to go out with me! They don’t hate me — quite the opposite, actually! Despite being so reserved, she’d managed to make a positive impression on them. Judging from the way they spoke about her, they seemed to genuinely miss her. Sarah’s parents, it turned out, had been right all along. A whole universe of meaningful relationships was out there — she just needed to take the first step.

Satisfied, Sarah Leland stepped onto her balcony and jumped off, falling twenty stories to her death.