His backpack sat on the chair by his desk. I picked it up, expecting the usual weight — souvenirs, random junk, maybe a crumpled receipt or two — but it was light.
I unzipped it and found it empty.
No snow globes, postcards, or even a cheap magnet.
That didn’t make sense. This was the same kid who’d planned exactly what he’d bring back for my sister, his aunt Diane.
I checked his suitcase next.
I told myself I wasn’t snooping.
Same thing. Just clothes.
Then I checked his wallet. Every euro was gone.
I stood there holding it as my mind raced.
Had someone bullied him and taken it?
Did he give it away?
Was he pressured into something illegal?
I didn’t like where my thoughts were going.
Then I checked his wallet.
***
That evening, I tried again.
I sat on the edge of his bed, keeping my voice steady.
“Leo, talk to me. Something’s off. I can tell.”
He looked up at me.
His eyes weren’t angry or defensive, just heavy.
