He watched me like he had just seen someone strike a match beside gasoline.
An hour later I walked soaked into a downtown Chicago branch of Chase Bank.
The teller, a middle-aged woman named Linda, opened the passbook, read my full name, and immediately went pale.
Then she picked up the phone with trembling hands.
“Call the police,” she whispered to another employee. “And lock the front doors. The young woman cannot leave.”
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me.
I had no idea my life was about to split open…
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