Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
I walked the four blocks back to our house, the paper envelope clutched in my right hand. Every step felt heavy. Three thousand dollars. It was the exact sum I needed for the movers’ deposit, the plumbing repairs at the Elm Lane house, and the six cans of specialized formula that cost thirty-six dollars each.
The neighborhood was quiet as I turned onto our street. The lawns were green, perfectly manicured, a picture of suburban peace that felt completely detached from the reality of my life.
When I reached our driveway, Shaun’s blue pickup truck was already parked near the garage. He was standing by the tailgate, organizing a box of copper pipes and brass fittings he had purchased for the Elm Lane plumbing.
He looked up when he heard my sneakers on the gravel. His face fell when he saw my hands.
“Chloe,” he said, setting down a roll of plumbing tape. “What happened?”
I did not say anything at first. My throat was too tight to speak.
I simply reached into the envelope and pulled out the printed bank statement, holding it out to him.
