I searched her overnight bag, her coat pockets, and the small zippered pouch where she kept insurance cards and receipts.
Nothing explained the key.
I checked the guest-room dresser and the jewelry box she had brought with her.
Nothing.
I stood in the middle of the room and remembered the certainty in her eyes.
Gertrude had hidden that key inside her clothing during her final hours.
She had kept it close while nurses moved around her.
She had used the last of her strength to place it in my hand.
Not Christopher’s.
Mine.
By the time he finally called, I had already printed the divorce papers I had kept saved for nearly a year.
I had filled in every section I could.
I had placed them on the dining room table beside an envelope containing the information he would need about his mother’s service.
My wedding ring sat on top of the first page.
