Untouched

He insured against every loss but one. He never thought to ask what was holding him up.

For twenty-five years, Bill did everything right. Same job, same commute, the policies read and filed, the furnace filter changed on the first of the month. People called him solid, dependable — the kind of man others stopped worrying about, because surely he would simply remain. He built carefully. He mistook it for wisdom. He never once looked at what his careful life was actually resting on.

Then it begins to come apart. The work goes first. Then the house starts to give way. Then the thing no policy covers, the thing he cannot fix — and Bill discovers that everything he trusted was only a symptom of something deeper he never tended at all.

Something old has been watching him. Something has been given permission. There is no malice in it — only a terrible patience that understands what Bill does not: that what is being stripped away was never what was holding him.

A modern retelling of the Book of Job, Untouched asks the oldest question a faithful life can face — and follows one ordinary man down to the foundation, to find what was underneath it all along.