He lowered himself into a chair by the doorway, staring at the picture as if he were seeing ghosts given flesh. “You don’t know what this means,” he whispered. “These scraps… this key… this photograph. They are more than objects.
They are my family. My memories. My past. I thought I would never touch them again.” His lips trembled into a smile, lined with both sorrow and gratitude. “You’ve given me back a piece of myself.”