Millionaire kicks a poor beggar in the market not knowing that she is the lost mother he has been searching for years…
The Saturday morning market in downtown Chicago was buzzing with noise, colors, and life. Farmers laid out their fresh produce, children tugged on their mothers’ hands for candy, and vendors shouted prices above the crowd. In the middle of it all, Daniel Whitmore walked briskly, his expensive Italian shoes clicking against the pavement. He was known in the city as a self-made millionaire, the owner of Whitmore Enterprises, a growing chain of real estate and investment companies. Dressed in a tailored navy suit despite the informal setting, he moved with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Daniel believed that success was proof of discipline, and poverty a consequence of failure.
Near the corner stall, a frail woman sat on the ground with a small cardboard sign: “Hungry. Please help.” Her clothes were worn thin, her hair streaked with gray, and her hands trembled as she extended a paper cup. Shoppers passed her quickly, some avoiding eye contact, others tossing in a few coins. To Daniel, the sight was distasteful. He hated being confronted with weakness, especially in public spaces.
As he approached, the woman accidentally reached toward his leg, perhaps mistaking him for someone about to give her change. Daniel recoiled, his pride bruised at the idea of being touched by a beggar. Without thinking, he shoved his foot forward, knocking her hand away and muttering, “Get off the street, you shouldn’t be here.” The movement was harsher than he intended; she fell backward against the wall, her cup spilling its few coins onto the sidewalk. People turned to stare, some whispering in disapproval.
The woman’s eyes widened in shock, but instead of shouting or fighting back, she simply whispered, “Daniel?” Her voice cracked, thin and weak, but there was something hauntingly familiar about it. Daniel froze, but only for a second. He shook off the feeling, convinced he must have misheard, and continued walking. Behind him, the murmurs of onlookers grew louder.
For the rest of the day, however, her face would not leave his mind. He kept recalling her eyes—soft brown, with a depth that stirred memories he hadn’t touched in years. That night, while sitting in his luxury penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline, Daniel poured himself a glass of bourbon and tried to dismiss the incident. Yet the whisper echoed in his head: “Daniel?”
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Unbeknownst to him, the woman he had kicked was not just another homeless stranger. Her name was Margaret Collins, though years ago she had been Margaret Whitmore—his mother. A mother who vanished when he was only seven years old, a mother he had secretly searched for through private investigators and long nights of regret. Fate had placed them within a single arm’s length at the market, and he had answered that reunion with cruelty…To be continued in C0mments 👇