Karen read it aloud slowly. Across the back of the ticket, in blue ink, sat my full name, Gwendolyn Marie Hollis, my signature, and a line I had written every Friday for nineteen years: This ticket is mine, and if it is found, call Gwen at, followed by my cell number. Karen added that the number matched the phone she was holding.

Behind her, Russell was shouting that it was a prank. I set my glass on the porch rail. Then his voice dropped, and I heard him hiss toward the phone, “Gwen, listen. I took it from the fridge. Tell them you gave it to me, and I will split everything.” Karen went quiet. “Ma’am,” she said, “did you hear that? Because everyone in this office did.”