“It’s not time yet.”
Not time yet?
That night, after Robert fell asleep, I opened the drawers of his desk for the first time.
Bills. Old documents. Bank papers. Nothing that explained what had happened to my pension.
Then I found a small black notebook. Inside were dates.
One entry for every month.
They were the exact dates my pension arrived.
Beside each date was an amount.
Every number matched my pension payment.
On the last page, there was one large total.
I sat down.
It was much bigger than I expected.
But there was no explanation.
The next morning, I planned to confront him.
I never got the chance.
Robert walked into the kitchen and said,
“We’re leaving at eleven.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out.”
By then, I was almost certain I was finally going to hear the truth.
We drove into town.
When Robert parked outside a bank, I did not even get out of the car.
