Chapter 3 - Unlocking the Bedroom Door to Find Hidden Despair
I turned my back on my mother and rushed toward the carpeted staircase leading upstairs.
“Ryan, do not go up there!” Diane shrieked, hurrying after me with surprising speed for her age.
I took the steps two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
At the top of the landing, I reached our master bedroom door and found the handle locked tight.
“Open this door right now, Diane, or I’ll take it off the hinges,” I warned over my shoulder.
My mother reached the top of the stairs, breathing heavily and grabbing at the wooden banister.
“You have no right to search my private storage boxes in your own marital closet,” she lied frantically.
“You put a deadbolt on our bedroom door?” I asked, staring at the shiny new lock installed in the wood.
Without hesitating, I threw my weight against the frame until the cheap latch snapped with a loud crack.
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The door swung inward, revealing a bedroom that looked like a prison cell rather than a sanctuary.
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