My mother took another step back, her handbag slipping slightly from her grasp.

She quickly caught it, but the sudden movement caused the zipper to slide open.

A small, white plastic bottle rolled out of the opening.

It bounced once on the kitchen floor.

The bottle came to a stop right at the police officer’s boot.

The kitchen was dead silent, save for the hum of the old yellow refrigerator.

My eyes were locked on the small white bottle resting against the officer’s black leather boot.

The blue-and-white prescription label was partially torn.

I could still make out Megan’s name printed in faded black ink.

The police officer looked down, his brow furrowing as he stared at the plastic container.

He bent down slowly, his duty belt squeaking in the quiet room.

My mother did not move a muscle.

She stood rigid, her fingers still curled tightly around the strap of her leather handbag.

The officer picked up the bottle, holding it carefully by the edges.

He gave it a light shake.

A single, hollow rattle came from inside.