I turned toward the exit, my slippers clicking on the cold floor.

And before I reached the door, a sharp heavy sound cut through the space.

The carriage house door, locking from the outside.

My fingers stayed cold long after I finally got out and the sun came up over the salt marshes.

I did not tell him, that first time, that I had heard the lock.

That was a decision, and I made it on purpose, standing in the dark with my hand on the cold wood.

A frightened woman pounds on the door and makes a scene and gives the man the reaction that tells him his instrument is working.