At first I thought I’d moved it so far back in the bathroom vanity that it was simply impossible to see. I knelt down low, squashing the hump of my belly in front of me, clawing my hands into the darkness of the cupboard space. But the tin is gone. It has completely vanished. I toss and turn at night, trying desperately to remember if I’ve moved the hiding spot and just forgotten, what with baby brain and all. Or has Chase found the tin and disposed of it? Or did Alex? And if either of them looked inside and found the drugs, why hasn’t one of them said anything to me? Nothing makes any sense.

“Have you seen any of my things in the bathroom?” I asked Alex earlier this week as she was writing an email on her work laptop.

She looked up, hassled. “Things?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled. It wasn’t like I could be any more specific. Later the same day, I tried Chase. “Have you seen a coffee tin kicking about?” I asked him airily. “Folgers?”

“You bought us coffee?” He reached immediately for his organic version above the stove. “We usually drink this. It’s got fewer chemicals in it.”

Neither of them had a clue what I was getting at, which begs the question: Where the fuck are my drugs and my money?

It’s a Sunday in late August, and the day is breaking into an idyllic, cloudless, ceramic-blue sky. I lie on the couch, heartburn fizzing and nauseous. There’s an inescapable sense that I’m panicking for two now. I wanted to feel differently about motherhood, even with what I knew of the world; at the start, I was so hopeful that it might begin a better chapter for me and for Alex. But these strange, angular sweeps of the baby’s head or elbow under my skin tell me everything is so frighteningly imminent. I stare at my midriff under the sheet, expecting a fist to punch outward, a foot. I feel more anxious now than ever. What will my baby learn about me as soon as it’s out? That I’m an idiot who lost thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs? That I ruined my own insurance plan? Invited violent crime into our home? I count down the days until September 20. I should be excited to give birth, but the date fills me with dread. I have to fix things before the baby gets here, before Eli shows up, although I’m starting to think his arrival will be sooner.