Have You Ever been Robbed?

I had never been robbed. Until now.

He buzzed in. I opened the door.
He said he was looking for a bracelet for his mother. He didn’t speak English, so I welcomed him in Spanish. He looked harmless. I always believe you shouldn't judge based on appearance. And yet… something felt off. Still, I offered him courtesy. Grace. I played the game. He tried on a few pieces. Admired others. Told me his sister would come tomorrow. I smiled. I buzzed him out.
I’ve always worked alone. It’s a dance I’ve perfected—and many have asked why. But I like my solitude. My independence. I’ve always felt strong. In control. Safe.
I’ve thought about what I’d do if something happened. I have a panic button. No one can leave the store unless I release the door.
It’s the Upper East Side, after all.
And then—I turned to reset the display case, and my heart dropped.
The 18kt gold cuff was gone.
I ran outside. Scanned the block. But he was gone. Just… gone. My chest tightened. My mouth went dry. My hands started to shake.
That kind of fear—the kind that takes over your whole body—it's like being hijacked by something primal.
I watched the footage. There he was, casually slipping the cuff into his pocket. Smooth. Precise. And there I was—trusting, polite, open. How naïve was I?!
The police came quickly. They were kind, professional, thorough.
They took DNA, fingerprints, a statement. But what could they really recover?
It’s not about the money. I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt. But I was violated.
This space—my studio—is sacred. Every piece carries energy, memory, meaning. What he stole wasn’t just a cuff. He stole a piece of my trust, my peace of mind.
I tell myself it’s the cost of doing business. A sacrifice you offer to the city gods.
And my daughter would say: "Mom, he probably needed it more than you did..."