After I Sold My Secret Gold, My Mother Called the Cops

Summary

The sudden, sharp knock of the police on my apartment door jolted me from my trance. I was staring at a gold bar, its weight heavy in my palm.

Just hours earlier, I had been laid off. Then, my doctor called with the results of my scan: gallstones, requiring immediate surgery. The five-thousand-dollar price tag was a death sentence for my already decimated savings.

This hundred-gram gold bar, purchased ten years ago with my very first paycheck and my mother's contribution, was now my lifeline.