Finally got the old safe open after twenty years

The tumblers were stiff, the combination faded in my memory, but I remembered the rhythm—the slow turn left, the click at 47, then right past zero, pause, then left again. The brass handle groaned like it hadn’t seen daylight since the ’80s. Inside: a yellowed envelope with my name on it, and a single key. Not for anything important. Just the one that never worked. Still, I kept it. Some things aren’t about access. They’re about the moment you stop pretending you don’t need to remember.