The Lockout Husband

Summary

It was nearly midnight when I finally dragged myself away from my desk. When the elevator doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the hallway was pitch black. The light fixture was busted—again.

I fumbled for my keys in the dark, found the lock, and pushed. The key wouldn't turn.

I tried again, harder this time, thinking the cold had jammed the tumbler. Nothing.

I knelt on the thin, industrial carpet and used my phone’s flashlight to look at the brass hardware. My heart skipped. The lock had been replaced.