I stared at this girl with my dead husband’s eyes. “He spent his whole life trying to tell you something,” she said. “This key opens it.”

I took the key from her hand. By the time I used it, everything I’d believed for over two decades was about to shatter. My name is Rosa, I am sixty-seven years old, and this is my story.

The doorbell rang at 9:47 a.m. I almost didn’t answer. Usually, it’s someone selling security systems. But it rang again, insistent. I checked the window.