I come home from work.

I opened the door, and I was brought by a younger daughter who was alone in the apartment.

My eyes are red, tears flow.

He runs to me and begins to roar, I am in shock, amid the adornments I hear:

“Ic... Some uncles came here... They were in black...Ic...”

I’m already thinking about calling the police, thinking about who it might be.

The creditors? I did not take loans. Just thieves? Brad, we live on the fifth floor, is not the most appetizing destination.

Finally I ask, “And what did they do? “”

They stole a piece of your cake.

How did she think of that, right?