I arrived home after three days away, and my key wouldn’t open the door.
For a split second, I honestly thought, Am I at the wrong apartment? The thought felt absurd the moment it formed, but my hands were trembling as I tried the key again, slower this time, like the lock might recognize me if I was gentle.
Nothing.
I stared at the number on the door. 304. My apartment. The same door I had walked through for twenty years, the same hallway I could navigate half-asleep, the same stale carpet smell and faint elevator hum I’d known longer than some friendships.
Three days away, visiting my sister in Phoenix, and now this.
The hallway was empty and quiet, except for the distant metallic breathing of the elevator. I tried again, a third time, putting my shoulder into the door. The key slid in, but it wouldn’t turn, as if someone had replaced the entire mechanism overnight or filled it with something that made it useless.
A knot tightened in my stomach.
Had I gone to the wrong floor?
Impossible. I had lived here for two decades. I looked down at my keys—my keys, the same ones I always used—dangling from the ceramic keychain Lucas had given me for my sixtieth birthday. A tiny blue flower painted on it, chipped at the edge now from years of being tossed into purses and coat pockets.
Had something changed while I was gone?
I pulled out my phone with clumsy fingers and dialed Lucas. First ring, second, third. My heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears, like a drum trying to warn me.
On the fourth ring, someone picked up.
“Hello?” It wasn’t Lucas.
It was Jessica, my daughter-in-law, and her voice sounded strangely cheerful.
“Jessica,” I said. “It’s me, Eleanor. I can’t get into the apartment. Something is wrong with the lock.”
There was a silence of two seconds—just long enough to make hope flare and then falter.
Then I heard a laugh that turned my blood cold. Not nervous. Not awkward. A genuine, almost amused laugh, like I’d told her something entertaining.
“Oh, Eleanor,” she said, tone light, casual, as if she were talking about the weather. “We forgot to tell you. We changed the locks yesterday.”
I pressed the phone harder against my ear. “You changed the locks? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m standing out here with my suitcases.”
Another laugh, lower this time.
“Well, here’s the thing,” she said, and there was a sweetness in her voice that felt like a knife wrapped in silk. “The condo is ours now, officially. Lucas and I decided it was time to take the reins. You know… you’re getting up there in years. You need a smaller place. Something more manageable.”
My knees almost gave out. I leaned against the hallway wall. “What do you mean it’s yours? This is my apartment.”
“It was yours, Eleanor,” Jessica said. “Now the forms are in our name. Everything is legal. Don’t worry. Lucas agrees.”
My mouth went dry. “I want to talk to Lucas.”
“He’s busy right now,” she replied. “Relax. You two can talk later. In the meantime, you can stay with a friend or something, right?”
“My things are in there,” I said, voice cracking.
“Oh, your things,” Jessica said, like she’d forgotten they existed. “We’ll see what we do with them. Some of it we’re going to need. Maybe you can come pick things up when we have time to get organized.”
“Jessica—” I started.
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