She was holding my daughters backpack open.
“Lets check once more,” the neighbor said. “Then you can stop worrying.”
“Check for what?” I asked.
A missing ring.
For days, my daughter had been asked whether she had touched it, moved it, or put it somewhere without remembering. Now she was emptying her schoolbag again.
“She was here when it disappeared,” the neighbor explained.
“That does not mean she took it.”
My daughter looked at me.
“You believe me?”
“Yes.”
I helped her put her books away and took her home. She would not be returning for after-school care.
Two days later, the neighbor called. The ring had been tucked into a gardening glove.
I asked her to give my daughter a clear apology, with no excuses. My daughter chose to receive it in writing.
She kept that note for a while.
One afternoon, she brought it to me.
“Can I throw this away?”
“Of course.”
“Will that be rude?”
“No.”
She dropped it in the recycling, then asked if she could help make dinner.
I pulled out the cutting board and gave her the strawberries.