Checking the Bathroom Lock Twice

Dear Delyara, I caught myself doing it again tonight—stepping into the bathroom, turning the heavy brass thumb-turn lock until it clicks, and then checking the handle twice to ensure it won't move. I’ve lived completely alone in this flat for three years. There is absolutely no one here to interrupt me, no one to invade my privacy, no one to watch my face. But the physical habit is entirely ingrained in my muscles, a remnant of a childhood where an unlocked door was an invitation for a volatile parent to breach your sanctuary. Even inside your own expensive fortress, you obey the rules of an old house you left decades ago.