I pulled open the top drawer.

A brass house key lay next to a bottle of hand lotion.

The key had an unusual square head.

Brett had used those particular square keys for his lockboxes when he redid the bathroom.

I picked it up.

It sat heavy in my palm.

I turned my silver wedding band around my ring finger, measuring the sheer nerve it took to leave his key in our bedroom.

I slipped the brass key into my pocket.