………….

I adored her, she had sat in that same spot for as long as I could remember.

Passed down from my grandmother… to my mother… and then to me.

Not a day went by that I didn’t turn the key. It had become a ritual. If I didn’t… it felt like I was inviting some kind of bad luck.

About a week ago, when I turned the key, the mirror cracked. The music still played, so I told myself it was just age, old things break.

But the next day…another crack. And the day after that… another.

Now my hand hovers before I turn it, just for a moment. I know I should leave her… but what if I don’t turn the key…