I stare over at where it should be, where it’s always been. Everyone else is gathered round the table discussing their days, the mundane meanwhile I’m trying not to visibly sweat. Nodding along to words I’m not listening to.

“Where is it?” I build up the courage to ask.

Grandma looks behind her at the empty space.

“Oh? That old thing? I donated it yesterday, I never use it anymore.”

“Where?” I ask.

“It’s just a cookie tin, don’t get in a tizzy!” My brother laughs.

I excuse myself from the table and head to the bathroom where I proceed to throw up.

There’s a knock on the door downstairs and my Grandma goes to answer it. It’s the police and they’re asking for me.