"There are moments in time we wish we could travel back to. Memories. Pieces of life better lived in reverse. In those moments, tragic endings might rewind into joyful beginnings. Moments of loss into those of gains. I remember now, in a cloudy moment of extreme melancholy, my mother hung herself here in this place. And for all I've lived, all I've seen and done, I suppose this is the moment I've kept myself from remembering, this moment I am so powerless to reverse. My mother was ill, I'm told, but I only ever thought she was inspired. That night, my father had locked her into her room for her own safety. Perhaps for mine, as well. But she begged me to help her, told me how much she needed me, how much she needed my help. And this is the part I've spent my whole life trying not to remember. I thought I was saving her. So, after he fell asleep, I let her out, you see. If only I had left that door closed, she might have become an old woman. I used to imagine seeing her older, offering me a cup of tea and asking for a chat. This skeleton key migrated all over the house. I wish, that day, it hadn't ended up in my hand. I loved her. Desperately."