A Goth Girl Visited My 73-Year-Old Mom Every Saturday—After Her Funeral, She Handed Me a Key and Revealed My Mom’s Final Secret

gone, and Raven was walking toward me with one hand closed around something.

“Maeve.”

I turned.

Her eyes were swollen.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

She nodded, then opened her hand.

A small brass key lay across her palm.

“What is that?”

“Your mom told me to give you this only after she was gone.”

I stared at her.

“What does it open?”

“She said you’d know when continue reading …