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.
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