Susan – A five sentence fiction

Susan checked whether her husband was already fast asleep before she put on her robe and made her way out of the room and down the hall. Quiet as a mouse, she twisted the doorknob with her wrinkled hand and pushed the door open, and there it was, standing before her, waiting just like the nights before. It had been fifty years since the train crash and every night since then she had been entering the wardrobe, hoping every time that it would finally work. Susan stood inside—together with the musty old smell and the memories—and she waited, and waited, but nothing happened. She felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as she kept on calling for the lion to come and take her away.