My son stole my wallet last night…

My son stole my wallet last night, from right under my nose. He was sitting at the dining table and I was unpacking the grocery bags. I was literally going from the table to the kitchen, which is all of two steps away, loading the fridge and cupboards. My purse was on a chair carefully pushed up against the table, out of sight. In one of those moments, when my back was turned, he reached into my purse and he took my wallet.

I had finished unpacking. I reached for my purse to put it in my bedroom. The wallet wasn’t there.

Where’s my wallet? It was just here in my purse.

My son says maybe you left it in your room. He stands up and starts heading to my bedroom.

Hold on. Don’t go in my room. I wasn’t in there, it isn’t in my room.

Then he says maybe you dropped it on your way in from the car? He starts heading for the outside door.

Stop. You aren’t going anywhere. I didn’t have it out of my purse. It isn’t out there. You show me what’s in your pockets.

No, I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t want you to see what’s in my pockets. I shouldn’t have to be subjected to this kind of treatment.

Well, I have invited you into my home for a meal based on a mutual trust for one another, which you have seriously eroded lately, and you are first in line for suspicion.

No. It’s my personal space.

Then leave your coat on and you show me your pockets.

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I no longer carry cash so I can say with conviction “I have no cash on me”

He starts pulling out the lining of all his pockets. But I can clearly see a big lump in his sleeve. I grab the lump and tighten the coat fabric around the shape.

This clearly looks like the shape of my wallet.

He drops his coat and I pull my wallet out of the sleeve.

I didn’t take it for money, I just wanted some information.

What the…?! Don’t lie. You just stole my wallet out of my purse.

I didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the rush of stealing something.

Get out. You need to leave right now. Just get out.

He sits down. His body language says he’s not leaving.

When you are like this I feel you are not my son. You are someone else. You are not welcome here. My son will be welcomed back when he can prove to me that he is drug-free, getting professional help and taking care of himself. Now, get out.

He stays sitting, arms folded.

OK. I am going to call the cops. This time I will say you stole my wallet. I’ve called them before and I’ll call them again. I will count to 10 and if you aren’t gone, I’m calling them.

He finally gets up and leaves. Whew. Didn’t want to make a scene by calling the cops. But I can’t believe our relationship has become so weird lately.

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