The quiet after the lock opens

I just finished a job at a flat where the tenant had been gone for weeks. The door was stiff, the handle loose—like it knew something was wrong before anyone else did. When I finally got it open, the air inside was thick with stillness. No dust, no smell, just… absence. My dog sat outside on the step and didn’t move until I stepped back out. He reads my shoulders better than I read myself. Sometimes I think the real work isn’t in turning the key, but in remembering what it feels like to be on the other side of one.