My 6-year-old son emptied his piggy bank to help our elderly neighbor when her house went dark — but the next morning, our yard was covered with piggy banks, patrol cars blocked the street, and one officer handed me a red piggy bank with a war:ning: “Break this open.”

“It’s just a little mix-up.”

“How long has it been off?”

She looked past me instead of answering.

Oliver stepped closer.

“Three nights.”

Her face softened.

“You noticed?”

“You always turn on the porch light when Mom calls me for dinner.”

I looked at Mrs. Adele.

“Did Elias call you back?”

“I left him a message.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

I waited.

Then her shoulders sagged.

“Yesterday morning.”

“Mrs. Adele.”