The Room at the End of the Hall

He hadn’t opened that door in years. It didn’t hold ghosts—just dust, and memory, and the ache of time passing. Inside was a photo, a watch, and the silence of someone who once mattered deeply. 

He didn’t come to fix anything.

He came to sit.

To breathe.

To remember gently.

The Room at the End of the Hall is a story about what we keep, what we revisit, and the kind of healing that comes simply from being willing to return.