The Safe Deposit Box Key

You're lying to me, Claire.

Claire didn't argue. She didn't defend herself. She looked at her husband, at the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, and realized that the truth was too heavy for him to carry tonight.

She nodded slowly. "I went for a run," she repeated, her voice hollow. "I fell."

David stared at her for a long moment, then turned off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness.

"Go to sleep," he said. "We have the audit meeting tomorrow."

Claire lay down on top of the covers, still shivering in her robe. She waited until David’s breathing evened out, until the rhythm of sleep took him. Then she reached into the pocket of the robe where she had transferred the contents of her bag.

The letters. The tape. And the key.

She pulled out the coat she had stolen from the attic—the one that had belonged to Lena. She had shoved it into the bottom of the laundry basket when she came in, beneath a pile of dirty towels.

She felt along the lining. There was a lump in the hem.

Claire used her fingernail to pick at the stitching. It gave way easily, the thread rotten with age.

Something metallic slid into her hand.

A key.

It wasn't a skeleton key. It wasn't a house key. It was a small, flat key with a number stamped into the metal: *404*.

But it wasn't just a number. There was a logo. A stylized *R* inside a diamond.

*Rosenberg Jewelers.*

Sarah had been right. The key Lena gave her wasn't the only one. There was a duplicate. Or maybe a companion.

But this key felt different. It was newer. Less worn.

Claire turned it over. On the back, scratched into the metal with something sharp, was a date.

*12/93.*

December 1993. Six months after the baby died. Six months after Lena supposedly gave birth to David.

If the first key led to the truth about David’s adoption... what did this key lead to?

A secret box for a secret wife.