The Door of Unmade Choices: Chapter 19

Day 19 — Frank’s First Door Returns

Frank’s door came back the way bad memories always do. He was standing in the backyard with his hands in his coat pockets, staring at the patch of grass near the fence. It was the only area of his yard not covered in snow. January had stripped the place down to essentials: bare branches, brittle air, the crisp sensation of snow.

The door stood where it always had—three feet from the fence, six feet from the back steps, perfectly upright on nothing at all. No hinges attached to reality. No frame anchored to the universe. Just a door, pretending it belonged. Only now it was brighter. Not glowing exactly, but charged. I had seen it before. This was now a door that had been plugged into something emotional instead of electrical. The wood grain shimmered faintly, as if lit from beneath the surface by a memory that refused to dim. The polished brass handle looked warmer than the air around it, as though it remembered being touched.

“That’s not supposed to be there,” he said. “I wished it away.”

“Not how it works,” I said. “It knows you still want it here.”

The door didn’t hum this time. It didn’t creak or beckon or perform. It just waited patiently like a therapist that knows you’ll eventually start opening up. Frank stepped toward it. The door reacted. The brightness deepened, pulsing once, slow and deliberate, like a heart responding to stress. I felt it then—the pressure behind my eyes, the subtle tug in my chest. Doors don’t run on nostalgia alone. They run on longing’s uglier cousin: despair.

Frank stopped walking. His shoulders slumped, just a fraction, but the door noticed. It always noticed.

“I thought it was done with me,” he said. “I did everything right. I didn’t go back. I didn’t open the others. I stayed.”

The door brightened again. I stepped between him and it, not because I thought I could stop it. Doors like this don’t respect personal space.

“It’s reacting,” I said. “Not calling.”

He laughed, sharp and tired. “That’s worse.”

He wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t temptation. This was recognition. The door wasn’t offering him a better version anymore. It was offering him relief. An exit from the exhausting labor of being himself. The light flared briefly, then settled into a steady glow, like it had found the frequency it was looking for.

Frank swallowed. “It knows I’m tired.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “And it’s counting on it.”

The door didn’t move. It didn’t need to. It had all the time in the world and right now, it was waiting on a man who was starting to believe he didn’t. 



*****



My new comedic sci-fi novel, Someone Else's Book Club, is available on my website or through Amazon! 

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