The word was almost a whisper.

Still, it changed everything.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tommy.”

“Three.”

Sandra snapped his name.

He looked at her, then back at me.

“No. Three times that I was there.”

My stomach tightened.

“That you were there?”

He nodded.

I turned toward Sandra.

“How many times did you come when he wasn’t with you?”

Her face hardened.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“No,” I said, pointing toward the truck. “This is already ridiculous. What I’m asking for now is the truth.”

After a long silence, she muttered, “Maybe twice.”

Five times.

At least.

Five times they had entered my home or taken things while I convinced myself I was becoming forgetful.

“What did you take?”

Tommy looked sick.

“Mom…”

“What did you take?”

He began listing the items.