“Please, will you marry me?” begged the lonely multimillionairess to the homeless man. What he asked in return left her stunned…
The sky drizzled softlylike a delicate veil of rainas people hurried past with umbrellas up and eyes down. Yet no one paid attention to the woman in a beige suit kneeling in the middle of the crossroads, her voice trembling. “Please… marry me,” she whispered, clutching a velvet ring box. The man she was proposing to? Unshaven for weeks, wearing a coat patched with duct tape, and sleeping in an alley just a stones throw from the City of London.
Two weeks earlier
Eleanor Ward, 36, billionaire CEO of a tech firm and single mother, had it allor so the world thought. Fortune 100 accolades, magazine covers, a penthouse overlooking Hyde Park. But behind the glass walls of her office, she felt like she was suffocating.
Her six-year-old son, Oliver, had gone silent ever since his fathera renowned surgeonleft her for a younger model and a life in Paris. Oliver didnt smile anymore. Not at cartoons, not at puppies, not even at chocolate cake.
Nothing brought him joy… except the odd, scruffy man who fed pigeons outside his school.
Eleanor first noticed him when she was late picking Oliver up. Her quiet, withdrawn boy pointed across the street and said, “Mum, that man talks to birds like theyre his family.”
She dismissed ituntil she saw for herself. The homeless man, maybe in his forties, with warm eyes peeking through layers of dirt and a beard, crumbled bread onto the pavement, chatting softly to each pigeon like an old friend. Oliver stood nearby, watching with soft eyesand a stillness she hadnt seen in months.
From then on, Eleanor arrived five minutes early every day, just to witness this odd exchange.
One evening, after a gruelling board meeting, she walked past the school alone. There he waseven in the rainmurmuring to the birds, soaked but still smiling.
She hesitated, then crossed the street.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. He looked up, his eyes bright despite the grime. “Im Eleanor. That boy, Oliver… hes… quite taken with you.”
He smiled. “I know. He talks to the birds. They understand things people dont.”
She laughed, despite herself. “May I… ask your name?”
“Jonah,” he replied simply.
They talked. Twenty minutes. Then an hour. Eleanor forgot her meeting. Forgot her umbrella, rain trickling down her back. Jonah didnt ask for money. He asked about Oliver, her company, how often she laughedand he listened. Really listened.
He was kind. Clever. Uncomplicated. And nothing like any man shed ever known.
Days turned into a week.
Eleanor brought coffee. Then soup. Then a scarf.
Oliver drew portraits of Jonah and told her, “Hes like a proper angel, Mum. But sad.”
On the eighth day, Eleanor asked a question she hadnt planned:
“What… what would it take for you to start again? To get a second chance?”
Jonah looked away. “Someone would have to believe I still matter. That Im not just a ghost people step over.”
Then he met her gaze.
“And Id want that someone to be real. Not out of pity. Just… because they chose me.”
The PresentThe Proposal
And thats how Eleanor Ward, billionaire CEOthe woman who used to acquire AI startups before breakfastfound herself kneeling in the rain on Oxford Street, ring in hand, proposing to a man who had nothing.
Jonah looked stunned. Frozen. Not because of the cameras or the gawping crowd.
Because of *her*.
“You… want to marry me?” he whispered. “Eleanor, Ive got no name. No bank account. I sleep behind a skip. Why me?”
She swallowed. “Because you make my son laugh. Because you make me feel again. Because youre the only one who never wanted anything from mejust to know me.”
Jonah stared at the box in her hand.
Then took a step back.
“Only… if you answer one question first.”
She froze. “Ask. Just ask.”
He leaned in slightly, meeting her eye to eye.
“Would you still love me,” he asked, “if you knew I wasnt just a man on the street… but someone with a past that could ruin everything youve built?”
Her eyes widened.
“What do you mean?”
Jonah straightened. His voice was quiet, almost hoarse.
“Because I wasnt always homeless. I used to have a name people whispered in courtrooms.”
Ethan Walker stood there, wrapped in stunned silence, clutching a worn-out toy car in his hand. The red paint was chipped, the wheels wobbly, yet it was more precious than any luxury hed ever owned.
“No,” he finally said, kneeling before the twins. “I cant take this. It should belong to both of you.”
One of the boys, with big hazel eyes brimming with tears, whispered, “But we need the money for Mums medicine. Please, sir…”
Ethans chest ached.
“Whats your name?” he asked.
“Im Leo,” said the elder twin. “Hes Oliver.”
“And your mums name?”
“Emily,” Leo replied. “Shes really poorly. The medicines too expensive.”
Ethan studied them. Barely six years old. And yet there they stood, in the cold, selling their only toyalone.
His voice softened. “Take me to her.”
At first they hesitated, but something in his tone made them trust him. They nodded.
He followed them through narrow alleys to a crumbling flat. Up broken stairs to a tiny room where a woman lay on a battered sofa, pale and unconscious. The room was freezing. A thin blanket barely covered her frail body.
Ethan pulled out his phone and dialled his private physician.
“Send an ambulance to this address. And prep a full team. I want her admitted to my clinic.”
He hung up and knelt beside Emily. Her breathing was shallow.
The twins watched him with wide eyes.
“Is Mum going to die?” Oliver choked out.
Ethan turned to them. “No. I promise, shell get better. I wont let anything happen to her.”
Minutes later, paramedics arrived and whisked Emily away. Ethan insisted on staying with the twins, holding their small hands as the ambulance raced through the night.
At Walker Memorialthe hospital hed once fundedEmily was rushed into intensive care. Ethan covered everything, no questions asked.
For hours, the twins huddled together in the waiting room, half-asleep, clutching a blanket. Ethan kept watch, a storm raging in his mind.
Who was this woman? And why did she feel… familiar?
A week later
Emily blinked awake in a sunlit private ward. The last thing she remembered was painand her boys whispering as if saying goodbye.
Now the pain was gone.
She sat up sharply, gasping.
Leo and Oliver burst in, followed by Ethan in a tailored suit.
“Youre awake,” he said, relief lighting his face. “Youre all right.”
Emily blinked. “You…? What are you doing here?”
“Thats my line,” he replied, sitting beside her. “Your boys tried to sell their only toy to buy your medicine. I found them outside my office.”
Emilys hand flew to her mouth. “No…”
“They saved you, Emily.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed. “How can I ever repay you?”
“You dont have to,” Ethan said. Then, after a pause: “But… Ive got a question.”
He pulled a faded photo from his coat. In it, a younger Emily hugged a younger Ethan. Back when they were at uni. Back when hed walked away for his careerand left her.
“Ive kept this all these years,” Ethan said softly. “You never told me you had children.”
“I didnt want to ruin your life,” she whispered. “You left. I thought youd moved on.”
Ethans gaze hardened. “Are they mine?”
She nodded.
“Theyre our sons.”
Ethan froze.
All this time… hed had twin boys he never knew existed. And theyd been trying to sell their only toy to save the woman hed once loved.
He knelt beside her, taking her hands. “I made a mistake, Emily. The biggest of my life. If youll let me… I want to make it right. For them. For you. For us.”
Tears streamed down Emilys face.
At the door, Leo whispered, “Mum… is that man our dad?”
Emily smiled. “Yes, love. It is.”
The twins rushed forward, wrapping their arms around Ethan. For the first time in his life, he felt whole.
Epilogue
Six months later, Emily and the boys moved into Ethans estate. But they werent just moving into a mansionthey were coming home.
The toy car, still scuffed and
