It hadn’t.
There were still people who looked past workers like us.
Still executives who mistook polish for value.
Still institutions that loved the language of dignity more than the cost of practicing it.
But somewhere, a student had called her plumber father and said, “I’m proud of you.”
Somewhere, a university had moved custodians to the front row.
Somewhere, a tech executive had learned that being corrected publicly is not the worst thing that can happen to a person.
Staying arrogant is.
And somewhere, my niece was standing in the mud, learning that the future is not built by clean hands alone.
The radio crackled again.
Vince glanced at me.
“You ready?”
I looked out at the dark road ahead.
At the poles leaning against the storm.
At the houses waiting for heat.
At the invisible map of people depending on us.
“Yeah,” I said.
Then I pulled on my gloves.
Because speeches matter.
Apologies matter.
Programs matter.
But at the end of the day, somebody still has to climb.
And when the world goes dark, respect is nice.
But light is better.
So we went back into the storm.
And brought it home.
