The leather was very soft, the kind that cost more than Lena’s monthly rent. She scanned the path, expecting to see a frantic woman running back for it. But the woman with the dog was gone, and the park had fallen strangely quiet. The red-bagged cyclist was a distant speck.
She paused for a while, wondering what to do. She pulled the bag onto her lap. She hesitated, then flicked the clasp. She told herself she was looking for a name, a reason to be a hero. Inside, the contents were eerily organized: a Chanel lipstick, a single key, and a folded receipt. But no cash or wallet. Just an ID card for an ‘Evelyn Marrow.’
Lena stared at Evelyn’s face on the plastic card—a woman who looked like she never had to worry about rent. A sharp pang of envy hit her, followed immediately by guilt. She imagined Evelyn’s panic and felt a surge of purpose. She would return this. She would be the person who did the right thing when the world felt like it was falling apart.