I turned toward him.
“How much?”
He stopped.
“How much money did you think you could get for all this?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Please. It’s not what you think.”
Sandra moved closer.
“Things have been difficult for us.”
“Difficult?”
I gestured at the truck.
“So you break into my house?”
“We weren’t taking from you,” Sandra said defensively. “We’re family. We thought you could help us.”
“This is what help looks like?”
Tommy rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mom, please let me explain.”
He stepped toward me.
I stepped back.
He stopped immediately.
Because suddenly the furniture wasn’t the worst part.
They knew exactly when I would leave.
They knew where my valuable belongings were.
They had tools.
Boxes.
Blankets.
A rented truck.
This wasn’t a moment of desperation.
It was preparation.
And once I understood that, another thought surfaced.
Things had been disappearing from my house for nearly a year.
