He scrambled up, glasses crooked. “What?”
“The money—your surgery savings. A thousand dollars is gone.”
His face drained. “That’s impossible.”
“I know!” I snapped.
We both turned to the hallway. “Joseph,” I said.
“He’s six; maybe he was just playing,” Mark offered.
I entered Joseph’s room. He was playing with blocks. I dropped to my knees, trying to stay calm.
“Hey, sweetheart. Did you take any money from Mommy’s office?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“You… you did?”
“I gave it to Granny.”
I froze. I grew up in foster care. I didn’t have a mother. Carolyn, Mark’s mom, was staying with us to help—she would never have taken the money.
“Sweetheart, who did you give it to?”
“Granny. She begged me for it.”