Mark was in shock. Standing in front of the large, ransacked wardrobe was Beatrice.
The middle-aged woman, who always appeared with a neat bun and expensive clothes, now looked completely disheveled. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes were wrinkled. The middle-aged woman was frantically rummaging through the drawers, tossing papers onto the floor in her search for one important item.
"Mom…?" Mark's voice caught in his throat.
Beatrice startled, shining her flashlight into Mark's face with wide, wild eyes. "Mark! Thank goodness you're here! Hurry up and help Mom find my passport in the bottom drawer! I have to get out of here tonight before those damn cops track me down!"
Mark, who was utterly exhausted, didn't move a muscle. He stared at his mother with a blank gaze filled with despair.
