For months, I believed my neighbor’s kids were up to something admirable—two teenagers spending their Sunday mornings cleaning the street as if they were campaigning for office. But when I caught one of them hiding something under a bush, I realized their “good deeds” weren’t quite what they seemed.
As a woman in my 60s, I’ve seen both the good and the bad in this neighborhood. So when I saw Becky and Sam, barely out of middle school, sweeping the sidewalks and picking up trash, I felt a renewed sense of hope in the younger generation.
Every Sunday, I would sit by my window with a cup of tea, watching them push brooms and haul trash bags, making the street look tidy. It reminded me of my own kids when they still lived at home. Their efforts felt… commendable.
One morning, I spotted their mother, Grace, rushing out of the house. I called out to her, “Grace, your kids are doing an amazing job with the neighborhood cleanup! You must be so proud.”
Her response took me by surprise. She smiled politely but hesitated as if I had said something off. “Oh, uh… yeah, they’re good kids,” she replied before hurrying off. I brushed it off, thinking she was just in a rush.
Weeks went by, and I continued to watch. Becky and Sam were out every Sunday, working diligently. I even offered them lemonade once, but they declined, saying they had things to finish. They seemed more mature than their age suggested.
Then, last Sunday, something unusual happened. While watching from my window, I saw Sam crouching by the large oak tree in front of my house. He pushed aside some leaves and carefully hid something under a bush. It wasn’t trash—it looked intentional, as if he didn’t want anyone to see.
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