But grief sharpened into something else. On the third day, while sorting through his papers, she noticed a glint of metal beneath the desk. Her fingers scraped against tape. A small brass key fell into her palm, cold and foreign. Daniel had never mentioned a lockbox.
Maggie frowned, her heart stuttering. She tried every drawer, but none matched. Then she spotted the thick spine of an old novel on the shelf. She had not seen it in ages. It was Daniel’s copy of Great Expectations. Between its pages lay folded bank statements, yellowed but carefully hidden.