This is an open letter to the three people who stole my handbag from the department store where I am employed as a shop assistant. When you took my bag, I don't know what you thought you were going to get. With my wages, there's not much left on a Tuesday. I hope the PS5 was useful to you. If you really need a couple of pounds, I suppose you could always cash one of the two checks left in my check book. Of course, I phoned the bank right away and the check-cashing card is no longer valid, so it won't be of much use to you. Actually I don't care about the money too much. We single parents who work to support our families understand only too well what it means to be short of cash. However, I don't suppose it went very far among the three of you. Sorry about that! I wish you had left the bag behind and just taken the wallet and check book. There were all kinds of papers and notes that I really need. I really think that was very inconsiderate of you. I mean, how would you like something like that to happen to you? Well, perhaps the bag will turn up. It wasn't even an expensive one, just a plain, old brown leather shoulder bag. You probably threw it in the nearest rubbish bin or threw it into the bushes. We've looked around, of course, but no one saw which way you went after you left the shop. I'm not really angry with you. I know how the pressures of modern life can affect us, but I am sad at the loss of my personal things. I feel helpless. The police were very icy, and they just shrugged their shoulders. "It happens all the time," they told me. Some small comfort, I suppose. But I've lost just a little more faith in human nature. And as my young son said when I told him what had happened, "Why? Mummy, why us?" I couldn't answer that question. I wonder if you can. Which of the following is the most valuable to the writer?
The cash in her bag. The handbag itself. The papers and notes in the bag. The check book in the bag.