My (late) husband R and I were off to the village home for a night stay. Our village home remained close most of the time, cause we lived in our city home. When we planned to stay, I would cook beforehand the food we needed. That way I only had to reheat. I had more time to clean the house, which accumulated dust like a magnet behind closed doors and windows.
Food and other items of necessity had already been loaded into the car. R was impatiently waiting for me to lock the front door, so that we could leave.
When R was alive, I never carried my set of keys, since his were readily available. It was a source of irritation for him. The thing was: I was fond of matching purses with my clothes. I could never remember which purse had the keys. At the last moment to search for keys was a waste of time. I would ask for his keys, lock the door, and give him back the keys.
As I came out, one of the kids followed me, to see us off. We eased out of the driveway, and finally we were on our way.
We reached the village in good time. R parked the car, and asked for the keys. I told him that I didn’t have them, and he must have misplaced them. He said, “You didn’t give them back”.
No keys— No entry.
We turned back to Peshawar.
We were back, and the keys were hanging in the lock on the front door. When our child had come out after me, I forgot to take out the keys from the door. The child went back inside, and closed the door without glancing at the hanging keys outside.
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