I signed my name on a report. The box said "No abnormalities observed" when I signed it. The next day, it had changed to "Pure accident."
I measured all forty-one spots, one by one, until I reached the stairwell window on the third-and-a-half floor. One screw was missing from the bottom of the window frame. They asked me: Did the glass fall? Did anyone fall? Neither. Then it wasn't a problem.
Nothing had happened in this building for twenty years, and nothing could happen. A bracelet had gone missing in the building. They searched for a month and never found it. No one reported it to the authorities.
I didn't marry into this family for the sake of the building's surname. The room on the west side of the third floor is locked. The key is beneath an eighty-one-year-old woman's pillow, and she feels for it three times a day.
I counted the set: thirteen rings, twelve keys.
