I Came Home From Prison and My Stepmother Said Dad Was Dead—Then the Cemetery Groundskeeper Handed Me His Key

Walter had done his.

Naomi had done hers.

Now Mason was doing his.

He left the cemetery before sunset.

The brass key remained framed on the wall of his apartment.

It could no longer open Unit 108.

But every morning before work, Mason passed it on his way out.

And every morning it reminded him that a locked door and a finished