Small enough to hold in one hand.
She tore off the lid.
The neon-green plastic key lay inside.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Erica lifted it by the little white tag.
Your new spare key.
Someone behind her made a sound that was halfway between a cough and a laugh.
Erica looked down again.
Under the plastic key was a folded sheet of paper.
She pulled it out.
And as she unfolded the cabin confirmation, the room went completely silent.
She still thought she was dealing with one empty weekend.
She didn’t know yet that the house was sold, that the closing was twelve days away, that the key she had taken had opened a door to a home that no longer belonged to any of us — and that the only place actually booked for her parents that weekend was a tiny cabin built for two, three hours north, waiting under the Phillips name.
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.