“My dog could do a better job with his tongue!” A wealthy man sneered at a poor boy shining shoes in an underpass and refused to pay. But the next day, fate would reunite them in a way neither expected.
In the dimly lit underpass, the constant hum of footsteps echoed around 14-year-old Martin, who sat quietly by the wall with his shoe-shining kit spread out in front of him. His eyes scanned each pair of shoes that passed, hoping for a customer.
“Just a few today,” he whispered to himself, “just a handful.”
The day wore on, and Martin’s stomach growled in protest. His meager breakfast of two bread slices felt like a distant memory. He took a small sip of water, trying to calm his hunger.
“You can do this, Martin. For Mom and Josephine,” he murmured, reminding himself of why he was here.
Martin’s mother was paralyzed, and his little sister, Josephine, was waiting for him at home. Their survival depended on what he could earn. He forced a smile, ready to face whatever the day would bring.
“Shoe shine, sir? Ma’am?” Martin called out, but his voice was barely audible above the noise of the underpass.
Hours passed, and not a single customer stopped. His spirits were sinking, but he refused to give up. Just as he reached into his worn leather bag for the small orange that was to be his lunch, a pair of scuffed brown leather shoes dropped heavily in front of him.
“Hurry up, kid. Clean these, I’m in a rush,” a gruff voice ordered.
Martin’s heart raced as he looked up. The man standing before him was sharply dressed, exuding wealth. This could be his chance to make good money.
“Yes, sir! Right away!” Martin set aside his orange and reached for his supplies, eager to do his best.
As Martin worked, the man’s impatience grew. “What’s taking so long? I don’t have all day!”
Martin’s hands shook, but he kept his focus, determined to give the man the best shine possible. “Just about done, sir. It’ll look great, I promise.”
The man scoffed. “At your age, I was already earning more than my father. I wasn’t out here shining shoes like some beggar.”
The words hit Martin hard. It had been three years since his father died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, leaving their family in pieces. The memory of that night haunted him still—the screech of tires, the crash, and the heart-wrenching news. After his father passed, Martin’s mother had a stroke, leaving her paralyzed. At just eleven years old, Martin had become the provider, stepping into his father’s shoes as a shoe-shiner.
But he couldn’t dwell on the past now. He had to finish his job.
The man inspected his shoe and sneered. “This? My dog could do a better job with his tongue!”
Martin’s face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. Let me try again—”
“Forget it,” the man snapped, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, Sylvester here. Reschedule the meeting to four. I’m going to be late because of this useless kid.”
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