I know what you’re thinking: who cares about missing socks, right?

Trust me, if you were in my shoes (pun intended), you’d probably do the same thing. Because when you’re a single dad just trying to hold things together, even the smallest things can drive you insane.

It all started with one sock. A simple black one, nothing special. I figured it must’ve been eaten by the dryer, as socks often are. But then another went missing the next week. And then another.

I’m not sure about you, but after the fifth sock disappeared, even the most level-headed person would start to get suspicious.

The mystery of the vanishing socks was driving me crazy. To make sure I wasn’t losing my mind, I started marking pairs with little dots.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just buy new socks. Maybe that would’ve been the easy fix, but most of the missing socks were novelty socks that my wife had given me.

That’s when I remembered the old nanny cam we had used when Dylan—my son—was a newborn. It took some searching, but I found it in the garage, buried beneath a box of Sarah’s old things.

Setting up the camera in the laundry room felt silly, but I didn’t care. I hung up three pairs of freshly washed socks and waited.

The next morning, I almost spilled my coffee in my rush to review the footage. What I saw made my jaw drop. Dylan was tiptoeing into the laundry room well before dawn, picking one sock from each pair and stuffing it into his backpack.

I decided to set a trap to figure out what my sock-stealing son was up to.

I hung up more clean socks and kept a close watch on the nanny cam. I saw Dylan take the socks, but as he left the house, I followed.

My heart was pounding as I trailed behind him, trying to stay hidden. He turned down Oak Street, which I usually avoid because of the abandoned houses.

Dylan walked up to the most rundown house on the block and knocked on the door.

The scene that unfolded wasn’t what I had feared. An elderly man sat in a wheelchair by the window, wrapped in a torn blanket. Dylan stood in front of him, holding a familiar-looking bag.

“I brought you some new socks,” my son said softly. “The blue ones have little anchors on them. I thought you might like those since you said you were in the Navy.”

I must have made a noise because they both turned to look at me. Dylan’s eyes widened.

“Dad! I can explain!”

The elderly man wheeled around to face me. “You must be Dennis. I’m Frank. Your boy’s been keeping my foot warm for the past month.”

He smiled, lifting the blanket to reveal that he only had one leg. Now it all made sense—one sock was missing from each pair!

Frank cleared his throat.

“Dylan’s been coming by every day since then. First company I’ve had in years, to be honest. My own kids left the country years ago. They send me money now and then, but they don’t visit much.”

“He’s a good boy,” Frank added quietly.

The next day, I took Dylan shopping. We went to Target and picked out a whole bunch of fun socks, with wacky designs and bright colors.

Now, we visit Frank regularly. I help with home repairs he can’t manage, and Dylan keeps him company with stories from school.

We sometimes bring him food along with the socks, and he tells Dylan war stories that always end with tales of kindness in the most unexpected places.