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Two closed doors unlocked a flood of enduring anger

Roslyn Dee


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Arriving home late from work on a winter’s night a few years ago, I opened the door of my apartment and immediately stood stock-still. Something was wrong. I knew instantly, because the doors of the two rooms that face into the hall were closed. I never close them, always leaving them prised open to let light into the hall.

Somebody had been in my home. Somebody could still be in my home, standing silently behind one of those closed doors and planning their next move. For a brief moment I didn’t know what to do, and then instinct and anger took over. How dare they, I thought to myself, before calmly walking across to the first closed door and slowly pushing it open with my elbow. Relief flooded through me on discovering the room was empty, but there was disarray everywhere, with cupboards ransacked and their contents all over the floor.


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