I lifted the heavy lid, the familiar scent of cedar and old velvet rising from the small compartments.
The top tray held my everyday silver hoops, a pair of pearl studs, and the gold band my grandmother had left me. Everything was in its place, undisturbed and neat.
My fingers found the small brass latch hidden behind the velvet ring divider. I pressed it, and the false bottom clicked open with a tiny, dry sound.
The velvet-lined compartment where the fourteen-thousand-dollar sapphire pendant belonged was completely empty.
I reached inside, my fingers brushing the bare blue velvet, hoping the chain had simply slipped into a corner of the hidden drawer. There was nothing but a tiny speck of grey lint.
I rubbed my bare collarbone again, my skin hot under my touch. The jeweler’s registration card was still in my safety deposit box at the bank, but the pendant itself was gone.
I pulled out the other small drawers of the mahogany box, searching through the silver chains and the beaded bracelets. None of them had been touched.
Only the sapphire was missing.
I stood there in the quiet room, staring at the empty velvet slot, realizing my home was no longer private.
The headlights of Gregory’s sedan swept across the living room windows at precisely half past six. I stood in the kitchen, a wooden spoon in my hand and a pot of marinara bubbling on the stove, forcing my face into a mask of normal Tuesday evening routine.
The heavy oak front door opened, and Gregory walked in, carrying his leather briefcase and his wool overcoat. He looked exactly as he always did, his charcoal tailored suit unwrinkled, his dark hair brushed back from his forehead.
“Smells good, sweetheart,” he said, setting his briefcase on the hall table and walking into the kitchen.
“Just pasta,” I said, keeping my back to him as I stirred the red sauce. “Toby is staying with Mom tonight.”
He came up behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders, his fingers squeezing the tight muscles near my neck.
