Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY BOXES
Marcus bypassed the kitchen and walked straight up the hardwood stairs to the second floor. His heart pounded aggressively against his ribs, his breath shallow. He reached his home office, pulled his keys from his pocket, and unlocked the heavy oak door of the walk-in storage closet.
He flipped the light switch. The closet smelled of old paper and cedar. He knelt on the floor and pulled away the heavy canvas tarp covering the ornate wooden chest.
He unlatched the brass locks. They clicked open with a hollow sound.
He threw back the lid.
The chest was completely empty.
Marcus stared into the void of the wooden box, his mind refusing to process the reality. The velvet inserts were gone. The silver jewelry boxes were missing. The heavy photo albums, containing the only tangible memories Nia had of her biological mother, had vanished.
“Marcus…”
He turned slowly. His wife stood in the doorway, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. The polished, elegant veneer she had worn at the store was cracking, replaced by a defensive, nervous energy.
“Where are they?” Marcus asked, his voice deathly quiet.
“You’re overreacting,” she started, rolling her eyes in an attempt to project dominance. “It was just a bunch of old junk taking up space. You know we’ve been trying to declutter the house before the holidays—”
“Where. Are. They?” Marcus stepped forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her.
She took a step back, genuine fear finally penetrating her arrogance. “I sold them,” she blurted out. “A few weeks ago. The jewelry, the watches. The albums I just threw in the municipal recycling bin because nobody buys old pictures of strangers!”
Marcus felt the floor drop out from beneath him. “You threw away her mother’s photographs?”
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“Marcus, we needed the money! Leo’s private baseball camp was coming up, and Maya wanted those horseback riding lessons. Your card has limits, and I didn’t want to ask you for more cash. It was just sitting there gathering dust!”
“That wasn’t your property to sell,” Marcus said, the devastating reality washing over him. “That was Nia’s legacy. Her mother’s legacy. And you threw away her photos to pay for baseball camp?”
