I reached out with my thumb and index finger and picked the key up off the wood.

The key to my new Sacramento apartment lay cold and bright in my palm.

I turned the brass key in the deadbolt, pushed the front door open, and set my heavy leather briefcase on the bare oak floor.

The empty apartment smelled of fresh white paint, clean glass, and scrubbed wood.

I walked into the small bedroom, unzipped my canvas suitcase, and set my grandmother’s heirloom teddy bear on the low windowsill.

Three weeks later, the morning sun crossed the kitchen floor at seven thirty.