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

I wasn’t proud of it.

I was simply too tired to make the truth sound agreeable.

After she left, I pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer and began listing the missing jewelry.

Halfway through, I wrote my mother’s name instead of the name of a piece.

I crossed it out and began again.

PART 4 — A Car in the Alley

On Monday morning, Frank knocked with a thermos and a packet of toast he had wrapped in foil.

“I burned the first two slices,” he said.