arrived and replaced every exterior lock.
The new deadbolt shut with a heavy metallic click that felt absurdly satisfying.
I kept one key.
Another went into a secure outdoor lockbox.
The third went into my jewelry case.
David got none.
Two days later, while reading, I heard metal scraping uselessly against my front lock.
It continued nearly a minute.
Then came pounding.
Rachel stood outside holding a huge basket of dirty blankets.
“Your lock is broken.”
“It isn’t broken.”
She stared.
“It’s new.”
“Why would you change the locks? David
