Three days passed before Darren finally spoke to me about anything beyond household necessities. He remained frustrated, but his anger had softened into disappointment. I understood why he was upset, yet I couldn’t apologize for returning the wallet. I wished he could see that our desperation didn’t erase another person’s right to their belongings.

On Thursday afternoon, I was folding laundry when I heard Darren’s car pull into the driveway. The front door opened suddenly, and he called my name with unusual urgency. I hurried into the hallway, expecting another argument or perhaps bad news about his job. Instead, he looked bewildered. “You need to come outside,” he said.

A colorful drawing had been taped to our front door. It showed two smiling people wearing bright superhero capes, with enormous red hearts drawn above their heads. Beneath the picture, in uneven handwriting, were the words, “Thank you for being good people!” I stared at it, confused. Then I noticed a man standing beside the porch with a young boy in a wheelchair. The boy held a box of crayons and smiled shyly as his father stepped forward to introduce himself.