I lost my hat

I lost my hat.
I loaned it to my sister.
She says she was wearing it when we picked her up. But it is not in the car.
I remember distinctly seeing her red hair in the distance as my sweetie drove down the street to meet her.
" There she is ! " I said to my sweetie.
I remember her getting in the car. She was carrying my purple jacket that I left at the cafe. And a brown bag.
She says she was wearing the hat.
I don't think she was. I think she left it somewhere and has forgotten.
But she was so definitive in her belief that she had it that I did not argue. Even though I still cannot find it.
And I want desperately to argue: No you did not. I do not have it. It is not in my car.
It is not in my sweetie's car. It is not in the house. It is not at the barn.
IT IS GONE.
Part of me does not care. I have lots of hats. As I approach 50, things become less and less important.
Winning arguments and being right has become less important.
On the other hand, I did love that hat. The wide brim made it perfect for warding off the harmful rays of the sun.
Very important for us redheads. We who share the same Northern European DNA.
So of course when the sun beat down upon us I loaned it to her without question.