Steal my heart

She woke up and peeled the covers off her legs.

She sat quietly on the toilet and rubbed her face while yawning.

She showered. She brewed coffee. She made the bed. She prepared breakfast.

The dog she was sitting whimpered. She looked for keys, to open the gate, the iron gate that protects the sliding glass door from the backyard and beyond.

The keys were not in their place. She grabbed her spare set and unlocked the gate. But her key just spun around the lock without making that familiar clicking sound.

It was then when she realized that something was terribly wrong.

She went from room to room checking for signs of a foreign entity, but everything was in its place. Except when she reached the safe.

A watch, a ring, a passport, a checkbook, and a gun – missing. All belonging to my father.

I’m glad I witnessed his burial. Otherwise, I’d think he was off living a secret life as a drag queen and came to the house to get a few of his things.

Published by Mari

I was born with a widow's peak and a thick accent. I majored in English as a second language. I work ( and travel ( and sometimes do both.

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