Page 66

Maybe a few bills slid out when she lifted the board, and they’re still there, wedged against the wall.

There’s nothing.

My fingers find only grit and a lost sock.

I yank out old shoes, a plastic bin, and a bag of fabric scraps, dumping each one onto the floor behind me without looking.

I know exactly where the money was.

I know.

I know.

I know.

“Where is it?” My voice breaks.

I stand too quickly and almost fall. The room blurs at the edges, colors running together like wet chalk. I grab the mattress with both hands and rip the sheet upward, sending my pillow tumbling off the side.

Nothing.

Pillow—I squeeze it like it might have bills stuffed inside it instead of foam.

Nothing.

Desk drawers—I pull them out all the way, scattering pens, tape, and loose buttons across the desktop.

Nothing.

Closet—I shove hangers aside and feel along the top shelf with flat palms, coming away with dust on both hands.

Nothing.

I don’t know why I’m searching.

She found it.

She found it.

She found it.

The thought lands like someone repeatedly striking the same place in my chest, over and over, no time to heal between hits.

My future.

That’s what she took.

Not cash.

School.

Housing.

Supplies.

The security deposit I calculated three different times.

The bus pass.