He asked her what she carried. “Donations for the pantry. We do it anonymously,” she replied briskly. He wanted to believe her, but her too-smooth answer sounded rehearsed. The image of the vanishing bag gnawed at him—transactions done in shadows never held good explanations.
Another evening, Emily pulled a small toy car from under her bed. “My friend gave me this,” she said proudly. Michael examined it—new, with a hardware store tag still dangling. Sarah appeared quickly, snatching it away. “That’s mine. I bought it for her.” Her voice wavered as she put away the toy.