The motel was cold and worn down, with faded wallpaper and a reception desk that looked older than the building itself. I approached the counter, hoping I could afford at least one night. The woman behind it looked tired but kind. As she prepared my room key, her eyes suddenly stopped at the ring hanging from my neck. Her expression changed so quickly that I instinctively touched it.

“Where did you get that ring?” she asked, staring at me with disbelief. I explained that a frightened teenage girl had given it to me on a snowy night nearly a year earlier. I told her how I had found the girl beside the road, bought her dinner, and lent her my coat. The receptionist’s eyes filled with tears. She slowly covered her mouth and whispered, “That girl was my niece. We searched everywhere for her that night.”