It was a heavy, antique piece that Nathan had insisted on moving into this room last week.

The brass key was missing from the lock.

I tried the handle, but it was locked tight.

I knelt down beside the wardrobe, searching the floorboards underneath.

Nothing but dust.

I stood up and approached Eleanor’s leather handbag resting on the armchair.

I unzipped it, my hands shaking so hard I could barely grip the metal tab.

Inside were old tissues, a worn wallet, and a heavy ring of brass keys.

One of the keys was small, silver, and modern.

I took the silver key and walked back to the wardrobe.

I slid it into the keyhole.

It turned with a heavy click.

I pulled the wooden doors open.

Inside were hanging coats and a row of neatly stacked cardboard boxes.

I pulled the top box down and set it on the carpet.

It was filled with old photographs of Nathan as a child, his face pale and unsmiling.

Beneath the photographs, my fingers brushed against something hard and cold.

It was a dark green metal lockbox.