She felt, more strongly than ever, that the house was watching her, waiting for her to decide whether she would finally uncover what had been kept locked away all her life. At the end of the upstairs hall, the attic door loomed, unchanged and yet transformed. For decades, it had stood as the boundary she was not allowed to cross.
Now the key rested on the chain in her hand. She held it for a long moment, the weight of it pressing into her palm, as if she were holding not metal but permission. Slowly, she fitted it into the lock. The click echoed down the corridor, sharp and final.