Seven Months of Rent Receipts Proved What My Son Had Taken From Me

The hallway outside went quiet except for the low hum of the furnace down in the basement.

I looked around the narrow bedroom.

Three gray plastic bins sat stacked against the wall, filled with my skirts, sweaters, and winter coats.

My bedside drawer was open and empty.

My black leather purse sat on top of the desk, its zipper pulled wide to show there was nothing inside but an old comb and a pack of tissues.

Mark had taken my car keys, my phone, and the house keys off the ring in my coat.

I reached my right hand into the small inside pocket sewn into the lining of my dark blue wool cardigan.