As I folded laundry, I realized how monotonous my days had become. I moved from task to task like a machine—laundry, cooking, cleaning—it was all part of my daily routine. Today was no different.

After loading the washing machine, I headed to the kitchen to start dinner. It was only 2 p.m.; I had a few hours before David and Jake would be home.

I decided to tackle Jake’s room next. It looked like a tornado had hit it, with clothes strewn everywhere and his desk buried under books and papers. I smiled and shook my head, muttering, “Typical teenager.”

As I picked up dirty clothes, I noticed the closet door slightly ajar. Inside, among old toys and school projects, was a small, forgotten piggy bank, covered in dust.

Curious, I picked it up. It felt heavier than I expected for an empty piggy bank. “What’s in here?” I wondered aloud. Without thinking, I tried to open it, but my hands slipped, and the piggy bank crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.