My Little Neighbor Didn’t Let Anyone Into His Home Until a Police Officer Arrived and Stepped Inside

It was late. I woke up to this soft sound. Not TV.

Not the pipes. Not a baby.

Crying.

I held my breath and listened.

There it was again. Muffled, broken sobs.

I got up, pulled on my robe and slippers, and shuffled to the front window.

I moved the curtain just enough.

Jack was sitting on his porch.

He was in a T-shirt, even though it was cold. Knees pulled to his chest. Arms wrapped around them.

His cap lay on the step beside him.

His shoulders were shaking.

No porch light. No glow from inside.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened my door and stepped outside.

“Jack?” I called softly. “Honey, are you okay?”

He jerked his head up.

His face was streaked with tears.

He looked terrified, like I’d caught him doing something illegal instead of crying his heart out.

“I’m fine,” he blurted. His voice cracked. “I’m fine.”

“Are you cold?

Is your mom home?” I took one small step closer.

He stared at me for a second.

Then he grabbed his hat, ran inside, and slammed the door.

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