at it the next time she visited. She moved Robert’s blue armchair back to the window.
And in the study, on the desk where she had written the letter, she placed the broken brass padlock in a shallow wooden tray.
People who saw it later sometimes asked why she kept such an ugly reminder.
Loretta always gave the same answer.
A lock can be used to keep someone out. But that morning, with one clean snap, it reminded her that no one else gets to decide when your life becomes too old, too quiet, too inconvenient, or too full of memories to belong to you.
The house remained hers.
The study remained open.
And Loretta, who had spent thirty-one years helping other people survive their hardest hours, finally learned that sometimes the person you must rescue is yourself.
