I’d been proud that I’d never lost my cellphone until my husband Jack got a call one evening. We went to visit a friend in hospital last year. When Jack’s 36 rang, it was my mother calling from my 37 . She asked if I had 38 my mobile. I checked my purse. It was 39 ! I used Jack’s phone to call my number. Then a boy, whom I’ll call Rhys, 40 it. “I found your phone!” he said, excitedly. “I have been trying to find you, but 41 it was getting late, I decided to leave.” He gave me the address of a 42 near his home. Later that evening, I went to 43 him there. I didn’t dare to go 44 , worrying this was some cheater. So Jack came along. After 45 10km, we got to the coffee shop which Rhys 46 . My 47 were gone. Rhys was just a young boy. “How did you 48 my mum?” I asked. He 49 that when he found my mobile by the roadside, he started calling people in my list of contacts. But all they 50 was my mobile phone number—which didn’t 51 . He’d called many names, starting with the letter A. Finally he got Adam, one of my friends, who 52 my house. I was 53 to get my phone back with all the contacts, messages and photos I could have lost for ever. I was so 54 to Rhys and offered him some money, but he 55 . As we drove back, we praised Rhys for his honesty.
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