I had opened it every single afternoon for seven years.

I let the keys drop.

They landed on a grocery flyer advertising apples.

The brass flap shut with a click.

I didn’t walk up the long driveway.

I went back to my car and set the briefcase on the passenger seat.

The framed photo gazed up from the floor in back.

The glass over the bakery held a small square of light.

Across the street a neighbor’s sprinkler ticked away steadily over the grass.

The old house number was still brass.

I checked the rearview mirror.

The road behind me was clear, and the road ahead was wide open.

I tilted my rearview mirror and drove off toward the morning light.