The room smelled of dried lavender and old paper.

I walked over to the mahogany desk by the window and opened the small bottom drawer on the left.

Inside was a velvet-lined wooden box holding my father’s silver pocket watch, its face clear and uncracked in the dim glow from the streetlight.

I lifted the watch, feeling its smooth weight in my palm, and checked the second hand moving in steady, silent beats.

I set it back in its felt groove, turned the small brass key in the drawer lock, and slipped the key deep into the pocket of my linen apron.