A silver serving set.
James’s old wristwatch.
Two small paintings.
Antique candlesticks.
Then he said something that made my knees weak.
“One of Grandma’s gold bracelets.”
I closed my eyes.
That bracelet.
I had torn my bedroom apart looking for it.
I emptied drawers onto the floor.
Checked laundry baskets.
Searched coat pockets.
I even called my doctor because I had become convinced that grief or age was beginning to affect my memory.
That was the moment the betrayal became larger than money.
They had not simply stolen objects.
They had watched me doubt my own mind.
I opened my eyes.
“Did you know I thought I was forgetting things?”
Tommy’s face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“Did you know I spoke to my doctor?”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
Sandra quickly interrupted.
“We never meant for you to think you were sick.”
I stared at her.
“What exactly did you think I would conclude when things disappeared from locked drawers?”
