I felt a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety.

My apartment held my entire life.

It held the remnants of who I was before I came to work for him.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“It’s no trouble, Claire,” he said.

“Where are your keys?”

“They are in my small brown leather purse,” I said.

“The nurse brought it from the hospital.”

“It should be in the closet.”

Daniel stood up and walked over to the tall wardrobe.

He opened the heavy wooden doors and found my bag sitting on the shelf.

He brought it over to the bed and opened the brass zipper.

He pulled out my key ring, which had a small plastic keychain of a lighthouse on it.

“Which key is for the front door?” he asked.

“The brass one,” I said.

“The silver one is for the mailbox.”

“My apartment is number 3B.”

“It’s on the third floor, at the end of the hall.”

Daniel tucked the keys into his pocket.

“What exactly do you need me to bring back?”