So yes—part of me thought about staying warm inside while someone else did the work.
But then I really looked at them.
They weren’t eager or playful.
They were anxious.
“Alright,” I said finally. “But do it right.”
They nodded quickly and got to work.
From my window, I watched them while the coffee brewed. They didn’t waste a second. The older boy hacked at the hardened snowbank with everything he had, shoulders trembling from the effort. The younger one followed, scraping behind him with that broken shovel like it was all he had in the world.
No complaints.
No distractions.
Just determination.
After about forty minutes, the younger boy suddenly sat down on my steps, breathing hard into his gloves. The older one rushed over, rubbed his back, and quietly handed him the better shovel—taking the broken one for himself.
That was enough for me.
I made two mugs of hot chocolate, pulled on my boots, and stepped outside.
“Take a break,” I said.
They both stiffened, like they thought they were about to be sent away.
Instead, I handed them the mugs.
The younger boy held his with both hands, soaking in the warmth. The older one met my eyes. “Thank you, sir.”