I lit candles on the table the way she always did.
The candles burned lower and lower.
But Anna never came.
The next morning, I begged Dad to call her.
I assumed something terrible had happened.
Maybe she’d gotten sick.
Maybe there had been an accident.
“Don’t,” he snapped.
I’d never heard that tone from him before.
“Why?”
“Anna isn’t coming back.”
Then he went to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an empty envelope.
“I caught her stealing from us.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“There were several hundred dollars in here. Now they’re gone.”
“No. Anna wouldn’t steal.”
His expression hardened.
“I’m sorry, son. But I fired her.”
I argued with him until my voice cracked.
I refused to believe it.
Eventually, he told me he never wanted to hear her name again.
Part 3
At first, I refused to give up.
At school, I borrowed a phone from an older student named Cliff and called Anna’s number.
It had been disconnected.
So I wrote her letters.
One after another.
Every one came back unopened.
I eventually convinced Cliff to drive past Anna’s apartment.
In exchange, I’d write his English essay.
