Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

The Intruder

I hug my backpack as raindrops pound the windshield. Mom grips the steering wheel, her new ring gleaming under the streetlamps.

I take a deep breath. “A twenty is missing from my cash box again.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “Sure you didn’t misplace it?”

“No. I always put my tip money there after work .”

“Hmmm…Vince must’ve had an emergency. You know, he’s used to being single — family life is new to him. ” Her tone is casual, but her knuckles are white.

I force down the knot pulsing in my throat. “It was in my underwear drawer.”