Annelies's Study

The key had lived in the same drawer for three years, nudged aside whenever Anselm needed room for a receipt. He opened it perhaps once a month since the funeral, closed it again without lifting the key free, and told himself the delay was respect rather than a decision he kept declining to make.

This morning it sat in his palm instead, cold, heavier than a key that size had any right to be. Jo stood a step behind him on the landing, coat buttoned, saying nothing. One broken rule; one key handed over the day before. She knew when his silence wanted company, and when it wanted to be left alone.

The door itself was plain and white, like every other door on this floor, which had always struck him as the cruellest thing about it.

He put the key into the lock at last, and slowly turned it.…