The dog refused to cross the threshold, no matter how hard she pulled on the leash. “That’s weird,” Dana muttered. They had only been gone a week. The house should have felt the same. But the front door was slightly ajar. The dog whimpered. Dana’s stomach dropped. She pushed the door open slowly. The living room looked normal at first glance. Couch. Coffee table. TV. But something was off. A drawer hung open in the hallway. She stepped inside carefully. The dog remained frozen outside. Her heart pounded in her ears. She walked through the house, room by room. Bedroom untouched. Bathroom untouched. Finally, she noticed it. The small metal box she kept in the closet was gone. It didn’t contain much. A few documents. Some cash. A necklace from her grandmother. She called the police. They came. Took notes. Nodded sympathetically. No signs of forced entry. She changed the locks. She installed cameras. She told herself it was just stuff. That she was safe. The dog eventually came inside, but he never slept in the hallway again. Only later did she realize that nothing had actually been resolved.