The list said milk, batteries, and the wrong-size sheets. Somehow that called for jeans that took effort, a white top that punished slouching, and perfume at 2:17 on a Tuesday.

At the store she moved like laundry detergent was hard to find. She read labels without reading them. She let a man pass in the aisle, then noticed him noticing that she had noticed.

The cheaper paper towels were right at eye level. She reached for the top shelf anyway. By checkout, the basket looked innocent enough: bananas, dinner stuff, paper towels. The receipt said errands. The mirror by the sliding doors told on her.