I reached into the second shiny bag and pulled out the white wool sweater Vanessa had brought Lily.

I turned the neck seam over on my fingers to check for a store tag at the collar.

The blue woven label had been cut off flush with the stitching, and the plastic barcode tie had been snipped short with clippers, leaving only a tiny, sharp stub against the fabric.

Every last price tag on every gift in the room had been cut clean away.

By seven the next morning, the acrid smell of burnt toast filled the kitchen.