It was pouring rain in Brooklyn, and after three canceled Ubers, we found a green taxi. We were soaking wet, two hours late and our son was yapping the whole time to the driver about how he was going to play his song.

At West 54th Street and Eighth Avenue, we stepped out of the cab. It drove off just as an officer was telling us we had to walk four blocks north, then cross to the next avenue to come back down.

That’s when our son asked us where his guitar was. I realized I had left it in the taxi.

Our boy cried. My husband explained that we had lost the instrument, but that an act of kindness might bring it back.

Of course, it took more than that: a report with the Taxi and Limousine Commission, calls to two police precincts and, finally, the help of a detective who connected us to the driver, who had been trying to find us.

Two days later, he pulled onto our street and jumped out of the cab with the guitar in hand.

“I remembered you,” he shouted to my son. “Now you can play your song!”

— Corvette Hunt