I grabbed the wallet and drove to the address.
It was a small house on the outskirts of town. The porch light was on, and the TV flickered inside.
I sat in my truck for a minute.
What if he thought I stole it? What if he called the cops?
I shook it off and walked to the door.
Knocked twice.
After a moment, the door opened.
An elderly man stood there, leaning on a cane. He looked exactly like the photo.
“Can I help you?”
I held up the wallet. “I think this is yours. I found it at my shop.”
His eyes widened.
“I thought it was gone,” he whispered, taking it with trembling hands.
He checked inside, then let out a deep breath.
“This is my pension money. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“I’m just glad I could return it.”
He pulled out a $100 bill. “Please, take this.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I didn’t do it for a reward.”
“Then why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
He studied me, then smiled.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Evan.”
