Every evening, I paused at the boutique window, dreaming of creating the dresses behind the glass. I wasn’t just a cashier—I was a designer at heart. The only thing I wore of value was an old key around my neck, a mystery from my forgotten past. My life changed the day I visited Nancy, a kind customer-turned-friend with a closet bigger than my apartment. When she saw my key, she recognized it—not as jewelry, but as a ceremonial bank key.
The next day, we went to Hawthorne Savings, my heart pounding the whole way. I handed the key to the banker, unsure of what it meant. When I guessed my name—”June”—as the security answer, the vault opened. Inside was a letter from my birth mother, written in delicate handwriting. She hadn’t abandoned me—she had loved me deeply and left me everything she had.
