The last key I never handed in

Found it today, tucked in a drawer where I’d forgotten I’d put it — not for any cell, but the old gate at the back entrance. Twenty years of turning that lock, and I never once thought to keep it. Now it’s just a piece of cold metal, but when I held it, I swear I felt the weight of every inmate who passed through without a word. Not a hero’s gesture, just a quiet thing. Still, I can’t bring myself to throw it out.