Instead, he bought a new pair of winter boots and left them on DeShawn’s porch across the street. He didn’t leave a note either.

This morning, I opened my door. The blue bag was there. I looked across the street and saw DeShawn walking toward the bus stop, wearing his new boots.

I ran my hand over the brass pinecone knocker. It felt warm in the winter light. It’s just a Tuesday, but for the first time in a long time, I think I’m going to be okay.