The letter continued, “I know what the world sees is the empire built from bricks and mortar, steel and glass. But you and I, we know the true wealth lies elsewhere. In this envelope, you’ll find a key.”Eleanor reached into the envelope and indeed found a small, ornate key, delicate yet sturdy. She held it in her hand, feeling its cool, metallic promise against her skin.

“The key,” the letter explained, “is to a place I kept for us, a sanctuary away from the chaos. It’s not on any document or ledger because it was meant for you, for us. Go to the old bank in town; they know this key and what it unlocks.”Intrigued and with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in years, Eleanor followed the instructions. The next morning, she visited the nondescript building, one she had passed countless times without a second thought. The bank manager, an older gentleman with kind eyes, recognized the key immediately and guided her to a private room.

Inside was a safety deposit box. Eleanor’s hands trembled as she opened it, revealing an array of personal treasures. Photographs from their early years, her grandmother’s jewelry that she’d pawned, now intricately restored, love letters they had exchanged in their youth, and a leather-bound journal. The journal was filled with her husband’s musings, ideas, and reflections — plans they had never had time to realize.