The key belongs to the diner.
Money disappears.
Homes fall apart.
But purpose gives people something much harder to lose.
I don’t even remember leaving the apartment after that.
One moment I was crying on my kitchen floor.
The next, I was standing inside the diner clutching the silver key in my fist.
Harvey looked up from behind the counter.
I held up the key.
“Is this real?” I asked.
He reached beneath the register and placed a folder in front of me.
Inside were ownership papers with my name printed across them.
Everything legal.
Everything real.
I laughed and cried at the same time standing there in the middle of the diner.
Harvey watched quietly for a moment before finally speaking.
