Twenty Inches

On the last day in a house she is leaving, a woman finds a biscuit tin of keys she never threw away. The flat above the bakery. Her mothers sold house. A friends cottage where she never wrote. A gym that closed years ago. And the shed key, his, left on the counter the day he moved out. She has kept every one of them and turned almost none. Twenty inches from the shed door, she stops. A short story about the keys we keep and the doors we do not open.