'For His Own Good' by Emma Robertson

“The key was there. It was.” 

Beads of sweat prick his brow; hands trembling, he paces.

“This keeps happening.” I’m gentle, soothing. “It’s time to seek help.”

Sobbing, he nods, flopping resignedly into his chair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Smiling, I carefully touch the key in my pocket. “It’s ok.”