Amongst the debris, something glimmered faintly in the dim light. My fingers trembled as I reached inside, pulling out a small metal lockbox, aged and rusting around the edges, the kind you’d need a combination or key to open. My mind raced with possibilities. What on earth had my husband been hiding?

I carefully placed the box on the ground, my heart hammering in my chest like a drum. I considered taking it home to pry it open in the safety of my own space, but curiosity got the better of me. Using the same knife, I attempted to jimmy the lock. After several tense minutes and a few curses under my breath, the box finally gave way with a metallic creak.