When My Neighbour Knocked on My Door at Ten in the Evening, He Was Holding a Mysterious Key

10pm. I was alone in the kitchen, washing up after what felt like an endless day. All I wanted was a little bit of peace and quiet. That was when I heard the knock on my door. When I opened it, there was my neighbour, Robert, standing awkwardly on the doorstep, holding a strange-looking key in his hand.

“Isnt this yours?” he asked, frowning slightly.

I glanced at the metal keyit was identical to the one I used every day. “No, mines here,” I replied, pulling the familiar key from my pocket and showing him.

He looked confused. “Then why does it unlock your door?”

For a moment, I thought he was playing some odd joke on me. But his face was seriousa little too serious for my liking.

“What do you mean?” I asked, the unease beginning to spread.

“About half an hour ago,” he said carefully, “I saw a woman let herself into your flat. I thought it was you, but then I saw you out on your balcony.”

My heart thundered in my chest, a hollow, panicky rhythm. Ive lived alone since the divorce, and its been two years now. Id sworn off anyone elses bad habits and disruptive noisesand most definitely off anyone elses keys.

“What did she look like?” I managed, my voice faint.

“Dark hair, forties maybe carrying a handbag.”

A cold wave crept up my spine. No one else should have a keyexcept one person My ex-husband. Hed moved out long ago, returned the key. At least, thats what he told me.

“Are you sure she came in here?” I asked.

“I saw her clear as day,” Robert insisted. “She turned your handle and walked right in.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the hallway behind me. The flat was silentfar too silent.

“Wait here,” I said quietly.

He shook his head. “Not a chance, Im coming with you.”

We crept inside together. Everything looked the same in the loungethe lamp still lit, just as Id left it. But then my eyes landed on the coffee table. There was a cup that shouldnt be there. My mug, filled with water.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“I havent had any water,” I whispered.

Robert stepped over, touching the cup. “Its warm.”

Just then, a faint noise drifted from the corridor, like something being moved. My blood ran cold.

“Is anyone there?” Robert called.

Silence.

He edged forward and I followed, clinging to his reassurance. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. I could barely hear over the pounding in my ears.

He pushed the door open. Empty.

But the wardrobe stood half-open, clothes disturbed, hangers knocked askew. Something small sat on my beda white envelope. I picked it up. Only my name was written on the front.

My hands shook as I tore it open. Inside was a note, just one sentence: “When youre ready to talk, you know where to find me.” The handwriting was instantly recognisable. My ex-husband.

Robert looked at me, concern plain on his face. “Hes still got a key?”

Slowly, I shook my head. “He wasnt supposed to.”

Perching on the bed, I tried to make sense of it all. The last time Id seen him was at the solicitors office, and even then, he was impossibly calm.

Hed said, “One day, well talk again.”

Id dismissed it as empty words. But now, someone had broken my trust, sat at my table, drunk from my cup, rifled through my things.

Robert stood at the doorway, eyeing the note. “This isnt right,” he murmured.

“I know,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly remembering, I hurried to the small cabinet by the front doorthe place I always kept my spare key. I checked inside. Gone.

It hit me, ice cold and sharper than I expected: he never made a copy. He simply never gave the original back. And I, foolishly, believed him.

Robert spoke quietly, “Probably time to change the locks.”

I looked at the note one last time, then tore it neatly in half.

“No,” I said, my voice steadier, “I think its time to change a lot more than that.”