49

The next soul stood in a modest van parked beside a quiet suburban home—a van that once carried equipment, traps, and sprays. The air still held a faint, clinical scent of chemicals and the rustle of paper instructions on pest behavior. Tools lay neatly arranged in a worn toolbox, each one a quiet testament to long, hard days spent keeping homes safe from unwelcome intruders.

The Angel of Death appeared gently, watching the soul examine the well-used tools with a hint of melancholy.

"You didn't just rid places of pests," the Angel said softly. "You helped families feel secure. You kept the small, unnoticed parts of life in order."

The soul sighed, a tired, almost wistful sound. "I was always just the person who chased away the bugs. No one ever noticed me once the work was done. They only remembered the moments when things went wrong."

The Angel stepped closer, voice calm and kind. "They noticed more than you think. The child who slept soundly without the fear of pests in the dark. The elderly couple who could rest easier knowing their home was safe. You provided peace of mind in a way that many will never see—but will always feel."

The soul's eyes dimmed with the weight of unspoken hours. "I never expected applause. I just did what needed to be done, day after day. Sometimes it felt like I was invisible—a silent guardian in the shadows."

The Angel nodded gently. "Invisibility doesn't mean insignificance. Your work ensured that life could go on smoothly for so many people. Every home you touched, every family you protected, carries a little bit of your care."

The soul looked down at the toolbox one last time, remembering the countless mornings, the long afternoons, and the quiet nights filled with purpose and duty. "I suppose… that means something."

The Angel's voice was soft and sure. "It means you mattered. It means you made a difference when no one else was watching."

The soul exhaled, the burden of unrecognized labor easing just a bit. "…I'm ready now."

The Angel extended a hand, and the soul took it slowly, leaving behind the van, the toolbox, and the quiet suburban streets. As they walked into the light, somewhere, a family slept soundly, grateful for a safe, peaceful home—unaware of the unseen hero who made it possible.