There was this young mad girl who stopped me on the road and handed me a key, saying, “This is the key to the room where your husband locked up all your unborn children—that’s why you’re barren!”

I ran down the stairs, my breath coming in short gasps. “Christopher? I thought you said it’s a three-day conference. Why are you back all of a sudden? It’s only been one day.”

He looked tired, his tie was loose, and he didn’t give me his usual warm hug. He just threw his briefcase on the floor. “The meeting was canceled, Gracie. Why are you looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost? Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

“I am happy,” I said quickly. “It’s just… I was cleaning the guest room upstairs. Chris, do you have the key to that large wardrobe? I wanted to clean the inside, but it’s locked.”

Christopher stopped moving. He didn’t look at me. “Why do you want to clean it?” he asked, his voice cold and flat. “That wardrobe is old. I don’t have the key.”

I stepped closer to him. “But I thought you’re the owner of this house? You’re expected to have every key here. How can a whole wardrobe be locked in our home and you don’t know where the key is?”

He turned and looked at me with eyes I didn’t recognize. There was no love in them, only a strange, sharp anger. “Gracie, stop this. I can’t be searching for a key right now. That is the least of my worries. Go and fix dinner.”