“That shovel’s no good,” I said, pointing. “Go grab the steel one from my garage. Left wall.”
He blinked. “Sir?”
“You heard me.”
He ran, and when he came back carrying it, he held it like it mattered.
They worked even harder after that.
An hour later, my driveway was spotless. The walkway was cleared, the steps scraped down to the concrete, even the porch brushed clean.
They came up to the door, hats in hand.
“All done,” the older boy said.
“What are your names?” I asked.
“Marcus,” he replied.
“Leo,” the younger one said softly.
I pulled out my wallet and placed the money in Marcus’s hand.
He looked down—then froze.
“Sir… this is too much.”
“It’s one hundred forty dollars,” I said. “That’s what the job’s worth.”
Leo’s jaw dropped. Marcus looked like he wanted to argue, but something inside him wavered.
“We said twenty.”
“I know,” I said. “You named a price because you had to. That doesn’t mean that’s what your work is worth.”
Leo started crying quietly, tears slipping down his windburned cheeks. Marcus turned away, blinking hard.
I lowered my voice. “What’s going on?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Then, quietly, “Our mom skipped her medicine yesterday.”
The words came out flat.