I clipped it with the kitchen shears and carried it upstairs in my fist.

In the study I laid it on the desk next to the folder and switched on the lamp.

“The house is ours again at last, Dad.”

Then I went through the downstairs turning off lights the way he used to, the kitchen first, the hall second, and I checked the back door twice because he always checked it twice.

At the front door I slid the old brass key into the new lock and felt the pins give way, as easy as breathing.

I turned the deadbolt from inside.

The porch light went dark.

The brass held firm.