“Just… don’t hide in your bedroom, okay? I’ll find you there right away,” he said, staring down at the tile.
I turned off the faucet and dried my hands slowly. “Why would I hide in there, Mason?”
He kept his eyes on the floor. “Because that’s where Alice always hides. She locks herself in, and I hear noises. But it’s our secret, Mom. I promised her,” he added, his voice dropping at the end.
My dish towel landed on the counter, and every instinct I had flared at once.
I crouched down to his level. “Sweetheart, how often does Alice hide in my room?”
I kept my tone calm, gently explained to Mason that secrets between adults and kids weren’t something we had in our family, and sent him back to his room with a hug. The moment he disappeared, I walked straight to my bedroom.
At first glance, everything seemed fine. Bed made. Curtains straight. Pillows arranged exactly how I always left them.
But something was off, and it took a second to place it.
The bedspread was folded at one corner. I always tucked mine flat. And the room smelled strongly of my good perfume—the one I saved for special occasions. I opened my closet and checked it slowly, hanger by hanger.
Then I froze.
The Paris dress was gone. I hadn’t even removed the tags. My husband had brought it back from a business trip. I hadn’t worn it. I hadn’t shown it to anyone. I’d been saving it for something special.
