It couldn’t be.
She sucked in her breath, sharp with humidity and the sting of burned timber.
Or could it?
A house fire wouldn’t necessarily destroy metal; that much was feasible.
Except this was never in her house.
The metal in her hand was on the door of a dilapidated estate in the middle of Mississippi. The same estate she walked away from at fifteen when she left her family and their division behind.
“I’ll be back,” she hollered to her neighbor, who was sifting through charred papers on her behalf. Guilt crept up about leaving Casey alone, but Jenny shoved it aside.
I must know for sure.
Seven block drive. One padlock opened. Three boxes shifted.
Jenny lifted the antique chest that belonged to her grandmother and set it on a box. Opening it was easy. Lifting out the antique key was simple. Putting it in that lock to check took every ounce of will she had left.
Metal to metal. A perfect fit.
It was her lock. The one they place they never looked. They were so busy creating division that they never guessed the lock was the very key they needed.
It opened everything.
In more than one way.
Years of forgotten stories rushed back on the wings of release. Every hug. Every prayer.
All returned. All unlocked.
What a gift.
She looked around the unit with new eyes. This wasn’t just all she had left.
It was everything she ever wished she had to begin with.
