Old Biker Kept Breaking Into My Yard To Fix My Fence And I Called The Cops On Him Several Times

“Of course.”

“What happened to your wife? Linda?”

He stared into his cup. “She remarried about ten years after we split. Good man. They moved to Florida. I hear she’s happy.”

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“Sent her a letter once, about twenty years ago. Apologizing. Telling her I understood why she couldn’t stay with me.” He paused. “She wrote back. Just one line. ‘I forgave you a long time ago, Earl. Forgive yourself.’”

“Have you?”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m trying. Every board I nail into this fence, I’m trying.”

December arrived. The first snow of winter fell on a Thursday night.

I woke up Friday morning to a world covered in white. Beautiful and silent. I made coffee and looked out the window at the finished fence.

Every section perfect. Every board straight. Every post sturdy.

And then I saw something that made my heart stop.

There were footprints in the snow. Small footprints. Leading from the back door toward the fence.

I ran outside in my slippers, heart pounding. “Maya! Danny!”

The footprints led to the corner of the yard where Earl had repaired the last section just two weeks ago.

And there, huddled against the fence, was Danny. Still in his pajamas. Shivering. Crying.

I scooped him up. “Danny! What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze to death!”

“I heard a kitty crying, Mama. I wanted to help it.”

I looked around frantically. There, on the other side of the fence, was a tiny orange kitten meowing pitifully.

Danny had heard it from his bedroom window. Had snuck outside to rescue it. Had walked straight toward the fence.

Continue reading…