I stopped for dinner at a small sandwich shop after a long and exhausting workday, hoping for something quick and uncomplicated before heading home. The day had been filled with deadlines, meetings that ran too long, and the kind of mental fatigue that makes even small decisions feel heavy. The shop was modest but welcoming, with the comforting scent of toasted bread and freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. Soft music played overhead, blending with the hum of quiet conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.

I joined the short line at the counter, glancing absentmindedly at the menu board while thinking about how good it would feel to sit down and finally relax. That was when I noticed the three kids standing directly in front of me. They looked to be around ten or eleven years old, backpacks slung over their shoulders, hair slightly messy from a long day at school. On the counter between them was a small pile of coins and crumpled bills. They were counting carefully, whispering to one another, their brows furrowed with concentration as they tried to make their money stretch far enough to cover their order.