The Key to My Heart

Three years of marriage, and I never once had a keycard to our penthouse.

Seventeen flights of stairs.

I climbed them on foot, every single day, for three whole years.

It all culminated on that freezing evening. I stood outside the locked lobby door, clutching a birthday cake I'd bought for my husband, Ethan, while my hands and feet went completely numb.

A late-autumn drizzle mixed with sleet, chilling me to the bone.

Shivering, I dialed Ethan's number.

All he said was, "Can't you just take the stairs? Think of it as a workout."

Before I could reply, the line went dead.