My Teen Son Sold His Guitar to Buy His Classmate a Wheelchair—The Next Day, Officers Knocked at Our Door

“Then why are you here?” I snapped.

Officer Cooper shifted awkwardly. “Because what your son did… reached people, ma’am. Someone wants to thank him.”

I turned to David. He looked like he might faint.

“Shoes,” I said.

“What?”

“Put on shoes, baby. If this turns into a nightmare, you’re not doing it in socks.”

A minute later, we stepped outside.

A patrol car was parked at the curb.

And beside it stood Nathan—hat in his hands, looking like he hadn’t slept all night.

I instinctively stepped in front of David. “Nathan? If this is about the wheelchair—he used his own property. I know he should’ve told me, but he didn’t steal anything.”

Nathan looked stricken.

“Megan,” he said softly. “That’s not why we’re here.”

Officer Daniels added, “Ma’am, nobody is in trouble. Nathan asked us to bring you over. He’s waiting.”

“For what?” I asked.