Newly minted keys jangled in Sarge’s hands as he unlocked the front door. Its hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside his childhood home. Dust swirled in the rays of the late afternoon sun, painting his mother’s décor in golden light. He passed his fingers over the small statues of cats on the small entryway table and glanced at the pictures spanning his family’s generations dotting the walls of the stairwell. He set his dark green pack on the floor and slipped another backpack off his shoulder. The ache in his back and neck eased; the pain served as a bitter reminder that his early twenties had passed decades ago, and his body no longer relished the physical punishment of labor.

Retirement would be good. He breathed deep, letting the characteristic woody smell rouse his nostalgia for a moment before heaving his bags off the floor and up the stairs. The second-to-last step creaked as it always did. Such a bittersweet thing to be back home. He crossed the hallway to the master bedroom.