The Key You Never Gave Me
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Summary
The day the locksmith replaced the deadbolt, he laid three keys on our living room coffee table.
One for my father. One for my mother. And one for my older brother, Greg, who had moved out five years ago.
I waited until the technician had packed up his drill and snapped his toolbox shut before I asked where mine was.
My mother didn’t even look up from her phone.
"You live here, Ian. What do you need a key for? Just ring the bell when you get home. Greg’s coming by with his wife and kid—they can’t be standing out on the porch waiting."
