I didn’t write on the envelope. Or leave a note.

But otherwise I did nothing to conceal my identity. It was there if someone wanted to find it.

My fingerprints were on the envelope, the tape, the money. My DNA was on the flap I licked.

I knew for a fact the family was getting the money.

I knew because just six weeks ago, the local paper ran a story. It detailed the anonymous gifts of cash that appeared randomly in the mailbox. The article’s author theorized that the person leaving the money was a Good Samaritan, someone moved by the plight of the family and the medical expenses related to the accident six years earlier that left their middle daughter with permanent disabilities and their youngest daughter dead. In the story, the family explained that the cash helped keep them afloat when times were tough by allowing them to purchase much-needed medical supplies or household items.

“We have insurance,” the father said in the article. “And the government helps some. But it’s never enough. These envelopes are a godsend.”

He went on to say they were initially reluctant to tell anyone about the money. More than anything else, they worried the publicity might scare off the anonymous donor. Clearly this person didn’t want attention or recognition of any kind.

But eventually the family couldn’t stand not saying anything.

They wanted the donor to know how much they appreciated what he or she was doing for them. They wanted the donor to know how much the money helped.

And they insisted they would never test the envelope for fingerprints or DNA. They would never set up a hidden camera to try to catch the person in the act.

And if the donor ever stopped leaving the money for any reason, they would understand. He or she had already been more generous than anyone could have imagined.

“I truly believe the person who gives us this money is an angel,” the mother said. “I know it sounds corny to say that in this day and age, but I really believe it’s an angel.”

—

Just under a month ago, I got caught.

Not by the police. Not by the media.

And not by Amanda.

No, I got caught by the family’s eldest daughter, the one who wasn’t quoted in the article about the anonymous angelic donations.

I’d been reluctant to go back and make another delivery. I feared that the article might have stirred up too much attention and might drive someone—another reporter, a neighbor, a random fame seeker who wanted something to brag about on social media—to stake the place out and catch me. Over time, my guilt grew greater than my fear. And I went back with another envelope.