Another Life, No Crossing

I fished the key out of my coat pocket, the one with the tacky pink charm dangling from it. I remembered seeing it sitting quietly on the center console yesterday when Tristan picked me up from work. While he was showering, I walked to the front door and slid the key into the deadbolt. It turned perfectly. The door clicked open. When he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, he casually mentioned that I should put the spare key away. He did not even bother to look up. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the condo building's WhatsApp group. ""Tristan, babe, be careful today. You left your key in my car. Hide it well, or the missus might get the wrong idea."" The message was deleted before I could even click on the sender's profile. The next morning, after Tristan left for the office, I stuck that pink key straight into our front door's lock and snapped a clear photo.