When My Neighbour Knocked on My Door at Ten O’Clock at Night, He Was Holding a Strange Key in His Hand

10pm found me alone in the kitchen, up to my elbows in suds, longing for a little peace after a long, taxing day. Thats when my neighbour knocked at my door, grasping a key that wasnt his.

When I opened up, he stood on my front step staring oddly at me.
Isnt this your key? he asked, holding out a metal key which looked exactly like mine.

No, I replied, a bit thrown. Mines right here.
I showed him my own.

He frowned.
Then why does this one open your door?

At first, I thought he was joking but he was deadly serious.
How do you mean, it opens my door?

Half an hour ago, he said, I saw a woman go inside. At first, I thought it was you, but then I spotted you out on the balcony.

A chill ran up my spine.
Ive lived alone these past two years. Since my divorce, I vowed never again to deal with someone elses habits, noiseor keys.

What did she look like? I asked.

Dark hair, about forty, carrying a bag, he answered.

That cold feeling gripped me again. No one else should have a keynot anymore.
Except, perhaps, for one person.

My ex-husband.
But he moved out two years ago, and hed handed me his key back. Or so hed claimed.

Youre sure you saw her come in here? I pressed.

He nodded firmly.
Saw her plain as day. She let herself in.

I glanced at the door behind me. The flat was silenteerily so.

Wait here, I said.

But he shook his head.
Im not leaving you alone.

We stepped inside, moving cautiously. The sitting room was just as Id left it, lamp still on.

But on the table stood something that hadnt been there earlier.
A mug. My mug.
Filled with water.

I stopped dead.
I havent had any water, I whispered.

My neighbour walked over and touched the mug.
Its warm.

Then, a faint sound floated from the hallwaya small shift, like someone moving something. We froze.

Is anyone there? my neighbour called.

Silence.

He advanced, with me just behind. The bedroom door was left ajar.
My heart was hammering.

He flung the door wide.
Empty.

But my wardrobe was open. Clothes had clearly been rifled through.

And on the bed lay a small envelope.
I picked it upmy name on the front, nothing else.

With shaking hands, I opened it.

Inside, just a note.
One sentence:
When youre ready to talk, you know where to find me.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

My ex-husband.

My neighbour shot me a look.
Does he have a key?

I shook my head slowly.
He shouldnt.

I sat on the bed, mind spinning. The last time Id seen my ex was at the courtcalm, too calm. Hed even said to me,
One day, well talk again.

Id written it off as empty words then. Turns out, someone had been in my home. Sat at my table. Used my mug. Rummaged through my things.

My neighbour hovered by the door, still staring at the note.
This isnt normal.

I know.

Suddenly, something clicked. I hurried to the cupboard by the front door and opened it. Thats where I kept the spare key.

It was gone.

A cold wave hit me as I realised: he didnt make a copy.
He just never returned the original.
And I, foolishly, believed him.

My neighbour spoke quietly.
Perhaps its time to change the lock.

I looked down at the note again.
Then tore it in half.

No, I said. Its time I changed more than that.

That night, I learned you should trust your instinctsand never assume that the absence of noise means the presence of peace.