A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son

The room was warm, yet I could not stop shivering.

The photograph.

The blank paper.

The missing key.

He could have reached into my purse at dinner.

He could have done it while I slept.

I did not know when, and that lack of knowledge felt like another thing he had taken.

What frightened me most was that the key meant very little to a stranger by itself.