When my packages started disappearing, I set up a camera—and caught my new neighbor stealing one at 1 a.m. Instead of calling the cops, I left a decoy box filled with alarms and glitter. The next night, she grabbed it—and chaos erupted. Glitter exploded everywhere, alarms screamed, and she bolted. I laughed—until I saw the fear on her face.
The next morning, I found her sitting on her porch, looking lost. Her name was Nella. She’d fled an abusive relationship, was broke, homeless, and stealing just to eat. I offered her food and later, a deal: she’d help me with yard work, and I’d pay her. Soon, she became part of my life. She worked hard, smiled more, and found purpose. But when gossip spread that I’d “hired a criminal,” Nella wanted to leave. I defended her to the neighbors, and eventually, people came around—some even helped her.
A friend of mine offered her a bakery job, and Nella flourished. Months later, she was living above the bakery, taking night classes, and—unexpectedly—dating my friend’s son. When they married a year later, she asked me to walk her down the aisle.
Her wedding gift to me was a silver keychain engraved: “You gave me a home when I had none.” That night taught me something I’ll never forget—sometimes, compassion does what punishment never could.