Two officers were at my door. Calla stood barefoot, trembling, tears streaked down her face.
“She came to us,” one said. Calla whispered, “I need to tell you something.”
Earlier that morning had been normal—cereal, missing socks, a tiny argument. But last night, she’d seen a man in our house while I slept, tall, in a red hoodie, shushing her before leaving.
A sweep found nothing—except an unlocked laundry window and a sock under the bed. Neighbor footage confirmed a man had been in our yard at 2 a.m.
Calla recognized him: Rene, a homeless teen I’d given a sandwich to weeks ago. I found him near the train tracks. He hadn’t meant harm—just needed a safe place. The police connected him to a youth program.
Weeks later, Rene sent Calla a letter, promising to build her a bike as thanks.
We got new locks and a camera—but more importantly:
Kids see more than we realize.
Kindness echoes farther than fear.
And when someone cries for help, you listen.
