In 2017, my friend since 1979 had spinal surgery. I stole time from my vigil to purchase a hospital coffee. Distracted, I left my purse behind, and it was stolen. Security insisted my wallet — with driver’s license, personal information and family pictures — would turn up. It did not. Weeks later, an envelope arrived at my former office at the University of Wyoming. Return address? None. Just: “Found Scattered on Street.” Contents: faculty ID, library card, a nearly empty gum packet, one stranger’s kindness and the warmth I feel for someone I have never met. — Pamela Galbreath