The Treasure We Didn’t Expect

When Karen and I returned early from vacation, the last thing I expected was a massive hole in our backyard.

My first instinct was to call the police—until I spotted a lone shovel resting at the bottom. Something told me the digger might return.

That night, I kept watch. Sure enough, a shadow climbed over the fence and slipped into the pit. I rushed outside,

phone in hand—only to recognize George, the man who’d sold us the house. He looked startled, then sheepish.

George confessed that his grandfather once owned the property and had supposedly buried something valuable there.

“Help me dig,” he said, “and we’ll split whatever we find.” Against my better judgment, I agreed.

We dug all night, swapping stories between shovel strikes. George had lost his job, and his wife Margaret was ill.

Though we found nothing but dirt and roots, something deeper began to form—a quiet bond built on hope and shared effort.

When I dropped him home, Margaret gently scolded him, calling the search a fantasy. George looked crushed.

I told him, “If you ever want to grab a beer, give me a call.”

Karen just laughed when I told her. “Only you,” she said. Maybe so. We didn’t find treasure—but sometimes, the best things are the people you least expect.