Food kept disappearing from Christine’s kitchen, first in small ways, then in glaringly obvious ones. A handful of chocolates went missing, then an entire box. Juice boxes drained faster than expected. At first, she brushed it off, assuming Samuel, her husband, had been indulging in midnight snacks. But the problem escalated—expensive wine bottles ended up in the recycling bin unopened by her, and premium cheeses were mysteriously half-eaten before a planned dinner party.

As frustration mounted, she started keeping a list. Monday: half a box of imported cookies vanished. Wednesday: a few pieces of dark chocolate were gone. Friday: the specialty raspberry preserves she had waited weeks for? Nowhere to be found. These weren’t random snacks—each missing item was something luxurious, something chosen with care. The final straw came when she discovered that a $200 tin of caviar, meant for Samuel’s birthday, had completely disappeared.

She knew she had to confront Samuel.

“Hey, babe,” she asked casually one morning. “Did you finish that box of Belgian truffles?”

Samuel looked up from his coffee, forehead creasing in confusion. “What truffles?”

“The ones behind the cereal,” she said.