“Gotta check the camera,” she said, hurrying inside. “Please let it have caught something.” In her study, Clara booted up her computer, her foot tapping impatiently. She pulled up the footage from the hidden camera she’d installed after a previous vandalism incident. Her jaw dropped as she watched a small boy carefully digging up her lilies, placing coins in their place.“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered, leaning closer to the screen. The boy’s movements were gentle, almost reverent. “What’s your story, little one?” Over the next few days, Clara asked around the neighborhood, showing a screenshot from the video to her neighbors. Finally, she got a lead from Mrs. Patterson, a chatty retiree who lived two streets over.
“Oh, that’s probably little Leo,” Mrs. Patterson said, squinting at the image. “Lives with his dad in that rundown place on Maple. Poor thing’s been through a lot lately.”“How so?” Clara asked, curiosity piqued. Mrs. Patterson lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well, his mother passed away last year. Cancer, I heard. His father hasn’t been the same since. Drinking, they say. It’s a real shame.” Armed with this information, Clara decided to pay a visit. As she approached the house, she spotted a boy mowing the overgrown lawn with an ancient-looking mower. The machine sputtered and coughed, clearly on its last legs. “Hey there!” Clara called out, waving. “You must be Leo.”The boy’s head snapped up, fear flashing across his face. The mower died with a final, pathetic sputter. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he stammered, taking a step back. Clara softened her tone, realizing she might have startled him. “I’m Clara.
