I Used the One Key That Still Meant Something
I didn’t call Lydia.
I didn’t warn Scott.
I went straight to the house.
I still had a key — because that home used to be mine before I gifted it to Scott and his first wife.
I knew every corner.
Every creaky floorboard.
Every storage space packed with forgotten “someday” items.
I walked past the mess, past the noise, and straight into the storage room.
And in the back corner, behind old boxes and tired promises, I found what I needed:
Four sturdy, combination-lock suitcases.
