Jill is in the middle of grabbing her mail when she accidentally steps on something squeaky and soft. She stares down at the raggedy little stuffed toy before her. A pathetic sight to be sure—the thing is clearly well-loved, nestled in the grass of her front lawn, beneath a rose bush where it had undoubtedly been accidentally discarded in passing. She picks it up, inspects it for a moment with a frown. Too adorable.

Tucking her mail under her arm, Jill walks over to your front door, knocking twice, toy in hand. She can think of no other person who it could belong to, and though she doesn’t know you well, she does know you’ve got a kid.