The Next Day, a Sheriff Knocked on My Door

But I would.

I locked the wallet in my toolbox and finished closing up, my chest tight with the weight of the decision.

At home, the smell of tomato sauce filled the air. My mom stirred a pot while the kids argued over spelling homework.

“Dad!” Jaxon shouted when he saw me.

Brynn hugged my waist. Kieran nearly tackled me.

“You look exhausted,” my mom said softly.

“Long day,” I replied.

That night, after baths and stories and promises about school events, my thoughts stayed on that wallet. On the cash. On the man’s face.

Around nine-thirty, I grabbed my keys.

“I need to step out,” I told my mom.

She studied me, then nodded. “Be careful.”

The address led me to a modest house on the edge of town. A porch light glowed. A TV flickered through the window.

I knocked.

The door opened slowly. The man from the ID stood there, leaning on a cane.

“I believe this is yours,” I said, handing him the wallet.

His hands shook as he opened it. Relief washed over his face.

“I thought it was gone forever,” he whispered. “That’s my pension.”