I read all the books, and none of them were anything like this.
I get up and walk softly to the door. I reach up and touch the deadbolt lever for the sixth time this morning. Horizontal. Locked. The fake-y gold finish has been worn away on the right hand side of the lever from my index finger. I try to twist the lever again. Locked. As far as it can go. I walk back to the couch. Sit on the edge of a cushion. It's too quiet today. Too quiet.
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