I never imagined that my biggest winter battle would be snow. But that was before my neighbor decided our driveway was the perfect place to dump his problems.
My name is Laura. I’m thirty-nine, a full-time trauma nurse, and the only parent my twelve-year-old son, Evan, has. My shifts are brutal—some start before sunrise, others end after dark. Coffee is my lifeline, exhaustion my constant companion.
What I hadn’t anticipated was pulling into our street after a long shift, only to be greeted by a wall of snow that didn’t belong to us.
Evan and I live in a quiet suburban neighborhood. It’s just the two of us, and over the years, we’ve learned to adapt. He doesn’t complain; he helps wherever he can. In winter, that meant shoveling every afternoon after school so I could pull into our driveway. I told him it made him my hero.
That winter was harsh. Snowstorms came one after another, thick and relentless. Evan and I shoveled together, laughing despite frozen fingers and aching backs, bribing ourselves with hot chocolate.
Then came Mark.
Mark, our neighbor, always seemed friendly on his terms. But that winter, he bought a snowblower, and I watched with cautious hope. Surely, it would make life easier for everyone.
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