I started noticing money missing from my wallet every time my daughter went out with her friends. At first, I thought I was just being careless, but when a twenty-dollar bill I left on my dresser disappeared, I knew something was up. I decided to follow her to find out what was happening.
She walked through town, and I followed her, keeping my distance. She eventually stopped at an old, run-down house. My heart raced as I peeked through a window. Inside, I saw her kneeling beside three small children, handing out food from her backpack—juice boxes, crackers, and apples. Tears filled my eyes as I realized what she had been doing.
That night, I sat her down and asked her about it. She explained that she had met the children weeks ago and had been bringing them food whenever she could. “I didn’t mean to take your money,” she said, her voice trembling. “I just wanted to help them.”
I hugged her tightly, feeling a mix of emotions. “I’m not angry,” I told her. “I’m proud of you.”
The next day, we went back to the house together, this time with bags of groceries. Watching her laugh and play with those children, I realized something important. She hadn’t stolen from me—she had given.
