At 82 and living alone, I thought I knew everything about my quiet neighborhood—until a stormy night changed everything.
As thunder cracked and wind howled, my front window shattered. I called Carl, the local handyman, to help fix it. He arrived quickly, but something felt off—he was unusually quiet, distracted.
The next evening, I noticed disturbed soil near the back fence. Digging with a spade, I uncovered a rusted metal box filled with sparkling jewelry. Alarmed and unsure what to think, I called the police.
Suspicion fell on Carl, but a few days later, officers returned with news: the jewelry belonged to his late mother. With a troubled home life and a struggling wife, Carl had hidden it in my garden for safekeeping.
When I saw him again, he apologized, and I forgave him. He’d only been trying to protect his past. I planted flowers where the box had been—a gentle reminder that even storms can reveal hidden truths.