Which meant it opened nothing anymore.

With shaking hands — hands nowhere near as steady as they’d been when they printed GUEST on a place card an hour before — Gene unfolded the white index card.

She unfolded it once, and then again, and the whole room held its breath, and she read it.

It was, in Brandon’s plain handwriting, a notice.

It informed her that the locks on our home had been changed.

That her key was revoked, permanently, which was why it now sat useless in her hand.