Cleaned, emptied, false panel removed. Just a dented box now, stripped of its secrets and ridiculous in its ordinariness. You set it on the floor by the door and looked at it for a long time.
Then you opened the hall closet, placed it on the top shelf, and shut the door without ceremony.
Some things do not need to be displayed to prove you survived them.
That evening, as the light faded green through your curtains and the kettle began to whistle, your phone buzzed once with a calendar reminder you had set months earlier and nearly forgotten. Window measurements, it read. Final install check.
You smiled to yourself.
Then you walked across the room, pressed your fingers lightly against the fabric you chose with your own money, and watched the city turn to gold behind it.
THE END
