A lonely black mechanic comes across a
mother and her two children lost in the
blizzard. The older boy, barely seven,
clutches his newborn brother tight,
shielding him from the wind as their
mother collapses in the snow. He risks
his life through the blinding snow to
save them, not knowing that this act of
kindness will be repaid in full and
change his life forever. Before we
begin, tell us where are you watching
from. Drop a comment and let us know.
The wrench slipped from Caleb Thompson’s
frozen fingers and clanged against the
metal pipe beneath the old woman’s
cabin. The sound rang sharp in the
frigid air, then was swallowed by the
low howl of the wind outside. He had
been lying on his back for the better
part of an hour, replacing a cracked
section of pipe that had burst under the
night’s bitter cold. When he slid out
from under the cabin, his breath came in
pale clouds that vanished into the white
haze around him. Martha Given stood in
the doorway, her thin frame wrapped in a
blanket that barely reached her knees.
Her eyes, soft, pale blue, but rimmed
with fatigue, watched him as though the
cold itself might steal him away before
the work was done. “Itll hold until
morning,” Caleb told her, brushing snow
from his sleeves. She reached into her
apron pocket and pulled out a folded $20
bill, her hands trembling from more than
just the cold. He shook his head, a
small smile tugging at his wind chapped
lips. Save it for heating oil. Her
protest died in the wind. By the time
Caleb climbed into his truck, the snow
had thickened into a curtain of white.
The road ahead no more than a suggestion
between drifts. The wipers groaned under
the weight of ice, dragging back and
forth like a tired heartbeat. The world
beyond his headlights was reduced to a
swirling tunnel, flakes striking the
glass with soft, relentless ticks.
Nights like this had a way of reminding
a man just how small he was against the
will of nature. He gripped the wheel
tighter, leaning forward as if the extra
inches might help him see farther. Caleb
had learned early that life didn’t hand
out mercy. His father had been gone
before he was tall enough to reach the
top cupboard, leaving him to figure out
the world without a guide. Yet somewhere
in him remained the quiet belief that
people deserved help simply because they
were people. At 16, he had once pulled
the neighbor’s boy from the icy lake,
carrying him home without a word to
anyone. Good deeds, his father used to
say, didn’t need an audience. The storm
pressed against the truck with a low
moan, the wind tearing at the seams of
the night. Caleb had just stepped out to
latch the last shutter on his own small
house when he heard it, faint at first,
almost masked by the whistling gale, a
sound high and thin, like something
fragile breaking in the distance. He
paused, head tilted, the cold biting the
tips of his ears. Then it came again, a
cry. Another followed, sharper this
time, too raw to be the wind. Without
thinking, he grabbed his heaviest coat,
shoved his boots on, and snatched the
flashlight from the hook by the door.
The snow came hard, stinging his eyes,
filling his footprints almost as soon as
he made them. He moved toward the sound,
his breath turning to ice in the air.
Near the edge of the road, half buried
in snow, he found them. A young boy, no
more than seven, clutching a bundled
newborn to his chest. A boy, no older
than seven, clutching something tight to
his chest. A bundle wrapped in a damp
ice crusted blanket. The cry came again,
sharper, and he moved toward it, boots
sinking deep into the snow. His
flashlight found a boy huddled by the
roadside, no more than seven, clutching
a bundle so tight his knuckles were
white. The blanket around it was soaked
and crusted with ice. Caleb dropped to
one knee. “Hey,” he said gently, “I’m
here.” The boy’s lips trembled too hard
for words. The bundle shifted, and a
weak whimper came from inside, an
infant. Beside them, half buried in
snow, lay a woman. Her hair was
plastered to her face, her skin modeled
from cold. Caleb touched her cheek,
burning hot under the frost. Fever. She
was breathing but shallow. He moved
fast. We’re going inside now. He slid
one arm under the woman, lifting her as
if she weighed nothing, and gestured for
the boy to follow. The child stumbled
after him, one hand clinging to Caleb’s
coat. Inside his cabin, heat rolled from
the wood stove. Caleb set the baby,
still wrapped in the wet blanket on the
couch, peeling away the icy layers and
wrapping him in a thick quilt. He poured
warm water into a bowl, dipping a cloth
and pressing it gently against the
baby’s hands and feet. The little one
let out a faint cry but kept breathing
steady. The boy stayed close to his
mother, eyes darting to Caleb with
mistrust. Caleb didn’t try to talk him
out of it. He simply handed him another
dry blanket and nodded toward the fire.
He laid the woman on a pallet by the
stove, swapped her soaked coat for one
of his sweaters, and covered her with
heavy wool. Steam rose from the mugs as
he poured hot water, setting one within
the boy’s reach and keeping the other
ready for her. For a while, the only
sounds were the crack of the fire and
the storm pounding the walls. The boy,
still shivering, kept glancing at the
baby and Caleb’s arms. Caleb sat in the
rocker, holding the tiny bundle close,
rocking without thinking. Only when some
color returned to her cheeks did the
woman stir, her eyelids fluttering open.
Her gaze found the baby first, then the
boy, and finally Caleb. For a moment,
confusion flickered across her face,
then it softened. She swallowed hard,
her voice barely audible. You, you
brought us in. Thank you. The words
carried a raw sincerity that needed no
embellishment. Caleb gave a brief nod.
You’re safe now. Just rest. She closed
her eyes for a few breaths, drawing in
the warmth from the fire. When she spoke
again, it was slower, as if each word
had to be pulled from a deep place. We
were trying to get to my sisters. My
husband passed 6 months ago. Her voice
hitched. We stayed in an old barn last
night, but the wind took the roof. I
tried to keep going, but she trailed
off, her strength slipping away as her
eyes closed again. Outside, the wind
howled on. Caleb knew they weren’t going
anywhere tonight. The storm did not let
up by morning. It pressed against the
cabin walls, a deep, constant roar, as
if the wind was trying to push its way
inside. The windows were blurred white.
No horizon, no hint of where the land
ended, and the sky began. Caleb stood at
the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal,
the smell of cinnamon drifting through
the warm air. Behind him, the fire
snapped and shifted, its light throwing
soft gold over the pallet where grace
still rested. Noah sat cross-legged on
the rug, his small frame wrapped in one
of Caleb’s old flannel shirts. The boy’s
eyes followed every movement Caleb made,
wary but curious, like a stray dog,
weighing whether a hand could be
trusted. Caleb set a steaming bowl in
front of him. Careful, it’s hot, Noah
hesitated, glancing at his mother, who
gave the faintest nod. Only then did he
take a small spoonful, his hands
trembling less from cold now than from
nerves. Caleb poured coffee for himself,
then sat across from the boy. He didn’t
ask questions. He told a story instead
about a winter when he was 10 and the
Thompson farm was snowed in for a week.
We had to dig a tunnel just to get to
the barn, he said, a faint smile pulling
at his mouth. My father tied a rope from
the house to the chicken coupe so we
wouldn’t get lost in the white out. You
couldn’t see 2 feet ahead. Noah’s spoon
paused halfway to his mouth. Did you
make it? Caleb nodded. We made it. Lost
a few shingles, but the chickens were
fine. Tougher than they look. The boy
almost smiled at that, the corners of
his mouth twitching before he hid it
behind another bite. Grace watched from
her spot by the fire, her expression
softer than the night before. By the
second day, the fever in her cheeks had
cooled, but a new worry crept in. Eli’s
breathing had a faint rattle, and his
tiny nose was red and raw. She held him
close, rocking slowly, her eyes fixed on
his face as if willing him to stay warm.
Caleb noticed the way she pulled the
blanket tighter around the infant, the
small crease between her brows. “He’s
strong,” Caleb said quietly, setting
another log on the fire. “But we’ll keep
him warmer still.” That night, when the
cabin was deep in shadows, and the
storm’s voice was a low growl outside,
Caleb rose from his bed roll to find
Noah awake, sitting by the fire with Eli
in his lap. The boy was trying to press
one of the smaller quilts around his
brother, but his hands were clumsy with
sleep. Caleb crouched beside him,
bringing a fresh towel he had warmed by
the stove. “Here,” he murmured, wrapping
it around Eli’s chest and feet with
practiced care. “This will hold the heat
longer.” Noah watched him, eyes wide in
the flickering light. Caleb glanced at
the boy. “You did good, keeping him
close. You probably kept him from
getting worse.” Noah didn’t answer, but
he stayed beside Caleb until Eli’s
breathing evened out. When Caleb reached
to adjust the blanket one last time,
Noah didn’t pull back. The days blended
together, marked only by the routine
they built. Caleb rationed the pantry,
stretching flour and beans into hardy
stews, sometimes slipping Noah an extra
slice of bread when Grace wasn’t
looking. In the afternoons, while Grace
dozed with Eli, Caleb showed Noah how to
stack wood so it dried faster, how to
bank the fire so it lasted through the
night. At first, the boy worked in
silence, but soon he began to ask quiet
questions about the tools hanging on the
wall, about the rifle over the mantle,
about whether the chickens in Caleb’s
story really made it through the storm.
By the fourth morning, the snow outside
was higher than the window sills. Caleb
pushed the door open only far enough to
see that the road had vanished entirely,
a smooth, unbroken sheet stretching in
every direction. The sky was low and
heavy, promising more to come. He closed
the door against the cold, and stood for
a moment, looking at the two sleeping
children, curled against their mother on
the rug. Grace stirred, her eyes meeting
his. No words passed between them, but
the weight of the situation was clear.
They were snowbound. The world beyond
the cabin was shut away and no one was
coming through until the storm gave them
permission. It began in the deep hours
before dawn when the fire had burned low
and the storm outside was a muffled roar
against the cabin walls. Caleb woke to a
sound that was not the wind. Sharp
uneven breaths coming from the rug near
the hearth. Grace was already upright,
cradling Eli against her chest, her face
pale in the dim glow. Something’s
wrong,” she whispered, her voice tight
with fear. Caleb was beside her in an
instant, his hand brushing the baby’s
cheek, the skin was cold, far too cold,
and the tiny lips carried a bluish tint
that made his stomach twist. Eli’s
breaths came in short, desperate gasps,
the kind that told a man without a
medical degree that there was no time to
lose. Caleb stoked the fire with one
hand and reached for his coat with the
other. “We need to get him to a doctor
now.” Grace shook her head, clutching
the baby tighter as if her arms alone
could keep him alive. The road she
started, but the cabin phone crackled to
life. An old landline hooked to the
wall. The voice on the other end was
from the county rescue unit, explaining
through static that every road was
blocked and no plow could reach them for
at least 5 hours. Grace looked at him
with eyes wide and wet, her voice
breaking. He doesn’t have 5 hours. Caleb
didn’t argue. He yanked open the chest
near the door, pulling out a heavy wool
blanket, wrapping Eli in it until only
his small face showed. “There’s a clinic
on the far side of the ridge,” he said,
fastening the blanket tight with a belt.
“It’s a hike, but I can make it faster
than any plow.” Grace’s hand gripped his
arm. “I’m coming.” They stepped into the
storm together, the door slamming shut
behind them as the wind grabbed at their
clothes. snow clawed at their legs,
blinding them, forcing each step to be
deliberate. Caleb carried Eli under his
coat, close to his own body heat,
feeling every shallow breath against his
ribs. Grace pushed forward beside him,
one hand on his back to steady herself
against the gusts. An hour in, the snow
was past their knees. Grace’s breaths
came ragged now, her strength fraying
with each step. Caleb glanced back and
saw her stumble, catching herself
against a buried fence post. The color
had drained from her face. “We can’t
stop,” she gasped. But the truth was in
her trembling legs. He scanned the
whiteness until he spotted the dark
outline of a small structure, a hunting
shack, half collapsed but still
standing. He guided her inside. The air
was cold but still, and it was shelter
enough to break the wind. Noah stumbled
in behind them, his cheeks raw from the
cold, his eyes locked on his brother.
Caleb knelt before Grace, his voice low
but firm. Stay here. Keep him wrapped.
Keep the fire in this stove going if you
can. He pressed his extra gloves into
her hands. I’ll come back for you.
Grace’s eyes searched his face, some
silent battle passing through her before
she gave a single nod. Noah stood
between them, his small frame stiff, as
if ready to block the door. Caleb
crouched so they were eye to eye. “I’ll
bring him back safe,” he said, steady
and certain. After a long moment, Noah
stepped aside. Caleb pulled his scarf
higher, cradled Eli under his coat
again, and pushed back into the
blizzard. The wind felt sharper now, the
snow heavier. Each step was a fight, but
he kept moving, focusing on the ridge
ahead. He could feel the baby’s breaths
still there, but too shallow. Somewhere
deep in his chest, he told himself over
and over, “You are not too late.” The
ridge was a wall of white, and by the
time he crested it, his legs burned and
his lungs achd with the cold. But down
the far slope, through the swirling
snow, he saw the faint glow of the
clinic’s lights. That sight alone gave
him another burst of strength. He half
ran, half slid the last stretch,
pounding on the clinic door until it
opened and warm hands took Eli from his
arms. The nurse’s voice was brisk.
Professional oxygen, warm blankets, a
heat lamp, but Caleb heard the relief
beneath it. Only when he saw the first
hint of pink return to Eli’s lips did
Caleb allow himself to breathe fully.
The doctor clapped him on the shoulder.
“You got him here just in time.” Caleb
nodded once, not trusting his voice.
Hours later, with the storm still
raging, he made the return trip with two
rescue volunteers. They found Grace and
Noah huddled by the small stove in the
shack, their faces lighting up the
instant they saw him. Grace didn’t ask
if Eli was alive. She could read it in
his eyes. Noah took a step closer,
looking up at him with something new in
his gaze. Not just relief, but trust,
solid and unspoken. They made the final
walk together to the clinic where Grace
held Eli again, now sleeping peacefully,
his small chest rising and falling in
the quiet rhythm of life. Caleb stood a
few feet away, the heat of the room
finally sinking into his bones, and for
the first time in days, the storm
outside felt like something far away.
The clinic’s small waiting room smelled
faintly of antiseptic and wood smoke
from the iron stove in the corner. Snow
pressed against the windows in frozen
drifts, muting the light outside. Grace
sat on a narrow cot. Eli swaddled and
sleeping in her arms, his breathing now
slow and steady. Noah was perched on the
chair beside her, boots swinging just
above the floor, his gaze fixed on his
brother, as if daring him to falter
again. Caleb had stepped outside to
speak with the nurse about supplies when
the door creaked open. A gust of cold
swept in with Martha, her heavy coat
dusted white, scarf drawn up to her
chin. Her eyes found grace at once, and
she crossed the room with the slow,
deliberate steps of someone measuring
her words before she spoke. “I heard
what happened,” Martha said softly,
settling onto the chair across from
Grace. Her hands still red from the
cold, curled around Grace’s for a
moment. “You did right bringing him
here. You fought the storm and you made
it.” Grace gave a small weary smile,
murmuring her thanks. Martha’s gaze
drifted to Eli, then back to Grace, her
expression tightening with memory. I
lost my boy in a blizzard like this
years ago. He was five. Fever took him
in a single night while the roads were
closed. Her voice trembled just enough
to betray the old wound. If I’d had the
choice, I would have sent him to stay
with family in town before the storm
hit. She paused, letting the weight of
the words settle. Maybe, maybe you
should think about letting your sister
take Eli for a little while until this
weather breaks. Just so you can keep him
safe. Her tone was gentle, heavy with
concern, but the sentence hung in the
air like a draft through a cracked
window. Grace’s fingers tightened
instinctively around Eli. I don’t know,
she said quietly. It’s not easy to be
apart from your child. Neither woman
noticed Noah by the doorway to the
hallway, his small hand resting on the
doorframe. He had been chasing a stray
rubber ball down the corridor and
returned just in time to hear Martha’s
last words. His chest tightened, and the
sound of his boots on the lenolium faded
as he stepped back into the shadow of
the hall. In his mind, the sentence
reshaped itself into something sharper,
colder. They’re going to take Eli away.
The image came unbidden. Eli, bundled in
blankets, carried out the door, his
small cries fading into the wind. Noah’s
stomach nodded. He remembered too
clearly the night his father had been
taken away in an ambulance and never
returned. He’d promised himself he’d
never let anyone take his brother from
him. Inside the room, Grace adjusted Eli
in her arms, trying to smooth the
conversation back to warmth. I
appreciate your kindness, Martha. truly.
But right now, I just I need to keep him
close.” Martha nodded, reading the
resistance in her tone, and reached out
to touch Eli’s cheek before rising to
leave. “I just want you to think on it.
Sometimes love means trusting others to
help carry the weight.” Grace gave a
faint nod, her mind already split
between the baby in her arms and the
paperwork the nurse had left for her to
sign. Medical notes, temporary address
forms, emergency contact numbers. She
did not see Noah slip back into the
room, his face carefully blank. The rest
of the day passed in a blur of quiet
routines. Caleb returned with extra
blankets and a thermos of hot broth,
settling in a corner chair while Grace
tried to rest. The storm outside had
eased to a steady fall of snow, but the
cold was deep enough to frost the edges
of the window panes. In town, power
lines were down, and the clinic’s
generator hummed constantly. No one was
leaving until the roads were cleared.
Noah stayed close to Eli’s side,
fetching water when Grace asked, keeping
his hands on the baby’s blanket as if
his touch alone could anchor him there.
When Caleb offered to take him
downstairs to see the rescue sleds, Noah
shook his head. I’ll stay here. His tone
was flat, almost guarded. Caleb didn’t
press him. That night, the clinic’s
hallways were dim, the only light coming
from desk lamps and the glow of the
stove. Grace sat by Eli’s cot, humming
softly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Caleb was speaking quietly with the
nurse at the front desk. In the corner
of the room, Noah lay curled under a
blanket, his eyes open in the dark.
Every sound from the hallway, boots on
the floor, a door creaking open, set his
heart pounding, his thoughts spiraling
back to Martha’s words. The storm had
taken so much already, he would not let
it take his brother. The storm had
shifted after nightfall, the wind no
longer howling, but pressing heavy and
constant, like an uninvited guest
leaning against every door. The
generator hummed low in the clinic, the
light dim and amber. Grace had fallen
asleep in the chair beside Eli’s crib,
one hand resting protectively on the
baby’s blanket. Noah lay across the room
in a cot, staring at the ceiling as
Martha’s words echoed in his head. Send
Eli to your sister for a while. They had
burrowed deep, twisting until they felt
like a threat. His chest tightened. If
he didn’t act now, someone would take
his brother away before morning. He slid
from the cot, careful not to wake Grace,
and wrapped the wool blanket around his
shoulders. Eli stirred when Noah lifted
him, making a faint, questioning sound.
Shh. Noah whispered, pressing his cheek
to Eli’s head. I’m keeping you safe. The
side exit was stiff with ice, but Noah
forced it open. The cold slammed into
him, and he almost turned back. Almost.
He stepped into the snow, boots sinking
deep. The night was thick and colorless,
the moon smothered by clouds. Upstairs,
Martha was at the window, hands around a
cooling mug of tea. She thought she saw
a shadow moving across the yard, small
and hunched against the wind. Leaning
closer, her breath caught. Noah, the cup
clattered into the sink as she shouted
down the hall, “Caleb, he’s outside.
He’s got the baby.” Caleb was already
pulling on his coat before she finished.
He grabbed a lantern and together they
plunged into the snow. The cold stung
their faces, the wind biting through
every gap in their clothing. The
footprints were faint in places where
snow had already started to fill them
in. If it covers the tracks, we’ll lose
them,” Caleb said, quickening his pace.
They fought their way past the shuttered
store, through the narrow alley that
opened toward the edge of town. Snow
whipped around them in fine, stinging
sheets. More than once, Martha lost the
trail. But Caleb spotted a shallow drift
disturbed by a child’s step and pushed
onward. By the time they reached the old
storage shed, his breath was ragged, his
scarf frozen stiff at the edges. The
sheds roof bowed inward under the weight
of snow, the wood groaning in protest.
Caleb pressed his palm to the door. It
resisted, swollen from damp, and forced
it open. Inside, Noah sat on the floor,
Eli in his lap, the baby’s small face
tucked under the blanket. The air was
bitter cold. Caleb stepped inside,
lowering the lantern so its light
reached them both. “Hey, buddy,” he
said, his voice low, warm, despite the
urgency. “That’s a long walk in this
weather. Your brother’s cold. We need to
get him warm. Noah’s jaw tightened.
You’re just going to take him away.”
Caleb set the lantern down and crouched
until his eyes were level with Noah’s.
He shrugged out of his coat, draping it
over the boy and Eli together. The cold
sank into his own arms instantly, but he
didn’t move. When I was your age, he
began, his breath making soft clouds
between them. A storm like this hit our
farm. My little sister was sick. I
carried her to the neighbors house
because I thought my folks couldn’t keep
her safe. You know what happened? They
were just glad I got her somewhere warm.
No one took her away from us. Families
stick together, Noah. Always. I’m not
here to take anyone from you. I’m here
to make sure you both get through this.
The boy’s eyes darted to Martha, who
stood in the doorway, snow clinging to
her scarf. She didn’t speak, only nodded
once, her expression open and gentle.
Caleb kept his voice steady. Right now,
this roof’s not going to last much
longer. You hear that? The wood groaned
overhead. A deep warning crack. We can
talk about everything else once we’re
safe. But if you stay here, we might not
get that chance. Noah’s fingers
tightened on the blanket. He looked down
at Eli’s tiny face, then back at Caleb
as if weighing something deep inside.
Finally, he gave a small nod. Caleb
stepped forward, scooping Eli into his
arms and pressing the baby close to his
chest, sharing every bit of warmth he
had left. “Good men,” Caleb murmured.
“Stay right behind me.” “All right.”
Martha reached for Noah’s hand, gripping
it firmly as they stepped into the
blinding cold. The wind sliced at
exposed skin, and Caleb kept Eli’s head
tucked under his chin, feeling the
baby’s faint breath against his neck.
Their boots crunched through the snow.
Each step a fight against the drifts.
Then a sharp splintering crack split the
night. The sheds roof collapsing in a
heavy cascade of snow and broken timber
right where they had been minutes
before. By the time they stumbled into
the clinic, the heat inside felt almost
unreal. Grace rushed toward them, her
arms trembling as she took Eli from
Caleb and pulled Noah close with her
other arm. My baby. Oh my babies, she
whispered, her voice breaking, tears
slid down her cheeks. Noah, no one will
take Eli from us. Ever. We’re together
always. Noah pressed his face into her
coat. I thought Martha crouched beside
him, her own eyes shining. You heard me
wrong, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I lost my
boy in a storm years ago, and I spoke
without thinking. I would never take
your brother away. I only want you both
safe. Her voice trembled, but she held
his gaze until he gave a small, slow
nod. Grace smoothed his hair, keeping
both boys close. Caleb stood back, the
heat of the room slowly chasing the cold
from his bones. Outside, the wind still
clawed at the walls, but inside
something had shifted. They were no
longer just surviving the storm. They
were surviving it together. In the hours
that followed, Caleb stayed close,
helping where he could. Noah glanced at
him now and then, and when their eyes
met, there was no suspicion left, only a
quiet understanding. “Thanks,” Noah said
softly, the first time he had spoken it
to him.” Caleb answered with a nod,
knowing the boy meant far more than the
word could hold. By morning, the storm
had eased, though the world outside lay
buried under white. News traveled fast
in a small town, and by midday,
neighbors arrived with casserles,
blankets, and offers of help. Grace and
her boys were given a small spare room
at the clinic until something permanent
could be found. Noah clung to his mother
at first, but when Caleb came in
carrying a bag of firewood, the boy
stepped forward. “Want me to help?” he
asked. Caleb handed him a piece, letting
the weight settle in his hands. Within
days, talk shifted from survival to
rebuilding. Someone mentioned an old
cottage by the river, weathered and
drafty, but standing. The town’s folk
made a plan. Caleb found himself
sketching repairs, hauling lumber, and
teaching Noah how to drive a nail
without bending it. One afternoon, Grace
stood in the doorway, Eli asleep against
her shoulder, listening to Noah’s
laughter ring bright in the cold air.
She caught Caleb looking at her, his cap
pulled low, and gave him a small nod of
gratitude. Two weeks later, the little
house smelled of fresh cut wood and new
paint. Curtains Grace had sewn from
donated fabric swayed in the winter
light. The community crowded into the
kitchen for soup and bread, their voices
and laughter filling the room. Noah
tugged Caleb’s sleeve. You’ll come for
dinner tomorrow, right? Caleb smiled.
Wouldn’t miss it. As the night wound
down, Martha found Caleb standing a
little apart, watching Grace and the
boys settle in. She placed a hand on his
shoulder. “You didn’t just fix a house,”
she said. “You fixed some hearts.”
Later, back at his own cabin, Caleb hung
his gloves on the peg by the door,
placing a small knit glove. “Noah’s at
the center.” Snow began to fall again
outside, soft and steady. Inside, the
sound of his hammer echoed as he worked
on a small wooden chair for Eli. A
rhythm of warmth taking root against the
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