Jett didn’t say another word. He just unlocked his office and pulled up last night’s security footage.
We watched the couple finish their meal in silence, the timestamp ticking in the corner of the screen. At first there was nothing unusual — just the man glancing at his phone every few minutes, the woman watching him do it. Then, near the end of the meal, the woman reached into her purse, searching for something. As she pulled her hand back out, a small object caught on the metal clasp.
It dropped. Bounced once against the seat cushion.
And rolled into the narrow gap between the booth and the wall, out of sight.
“She didn’t even notice,” Jett murmured, more to himself than to me.
I leaned closer to the screen.
A minute later — maybe less — the man’s phone lit up. He answered. He listened. And I watched the color drain out of his face in real time, the way you’d watch a light dim on a slow dimmer switch.
He turned the phone screen toward the woman.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
They weren’t running from the check.
They stood up so fast the woman’s chair tipped sideways and hit the floor. The man grabbed her coat off the seat, her purse off the table, and they were moving toward the entrance before either of them looked back at what they’d left behind. Not the bill. Not the ring. Nothing.
I was already on my feet.
The morning valet wasn’t the same kid who’d been on shift the night before, but Jett found him in the break room anyway.
“Did they say anything? Where they were headed?”
The valet frowned, thinking back. “The guy told me to bring the car around fast. Then he got on the phone and said — ‘Call the hospital. Tell them we’re coming.’”
Jett grabbed his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Laura, you don’t know who these people are.”
“That’s exactly why I have to go.”
I’d spent four months waiting. Waiting for the police to call back with something more than vague reassurance. Waiting for a stranger to recognize my mother’s face on a flyer taped to a bus stop. Waiting for someone else — anyone else — to find the piece of evidence that would finally lead me home to her. Waiting had given me four months of sleepless nights and not one single answer.
I slipped the plastic bag into my coat pocket, felt the small hard shape of the ring press against my palm through the fabric, and walked out the door.
This time, I wasn’t waiting for anyone.
