**Diary Entry 14th June**
Yesterday, I returned to my office in a state of unease. The events at the market still echoed in my mindthe outraged cries of the crowd, the womans piercing gaze that seemed to reach into my very soul. I tried to shake it off. They dont understand, I told myself. Life is a fight. The weak fall, the strong rise.
Yet my conscience wouldnt relent. Those eyes familiar somehow. Where had I seen them before?
This morning, my business partner, Mr. Whitmore, stormed into my office, grim-faced.
Edward, we have a problem, he said. That scene at the marketits gone viral. A video. Shared everywhere. Thousands of people are calling you a disgrace. If we dont act, your companys reputation will be in ruins.
What? I snapped, but when I saw my own face on the phone screenkicking that frail womanmy blood ran cold. The caption was brutal: *Millionaire Humiliates Starving Mother.*
If I may advise you, Whitmore continued, you need to find her. Offer money, shelter. Do it in front of cameras. Make it look like charity. Its your only chance.
I clenched my jaw and nodded. I hated grovelling, but my name was worth more than pride.
That afternoon, I returned to the market. And there she was againsitting in the same spot, the same threadbare coat, the same sorrow in her eyes. She didnt flinch when she saw me. Just watched.
Madam, I began stiffly, I wish to make amends for yesterday. Ill give you money. A place to stay. Food.
She studied me for a long moment, as if searching her memories. Then she whispered,
Eddie?
My heart stuttered. That namespoken so softlyonly one person had ever called me that. My mother.
What did you say? I asked, voice trembling.
The woman clasped her shaking hands.
Eddie my boy is it you?
I stepped back.
Thats impossible. My mother died. Twenty years ago.
Tears welled in her eyes.
No, my love. Im alive. Your father took you from me when you were six. I searched for years. Wrote letters, begged for answers. My strength faded but not my hope.
A tightness seized my chest. Fragments of memory surfacedthe scent of cheap soap, gentle fingers in my hair, the lullaby she used to hum. I didnt want to believe her.
This is a trick. You just want money, I growled, but the fire had left my voice.
Slowly, she reached into her coat and pulled out a crumpled photo. A little boy stared backsix years old, clutching a toy car, the very one Id owned. Beside him, the woman, younger, smiling.
All my resistance shattered. My legs buckled.
Good God I whispered. Mum and I I kicked you
Tears burst forth like a dam breaking. The millionaire whod spent years building his empire with cold precision now knelt in the street before a woman in rags.
Forgive me I sobbed. I didnt know I couldnt see
Margaret reached up, cupping my face. Her hands were frail, but her touch brimmed with love.
No forgiveness needed, Eddie. I always knew youd find your way back. My love never faded.
A crowd had gathered. No one spoke. They only watched as the broken man embraced the mother hed thought was lost.
Days later, the papers ran new headlines: *Millionaire Reunited with Homeless Mother.* But none of that mattered now. I brought her home, summoned doctors, made sure she wanted for nothing. More importantlywe talked. For hours. Margaret told me of the years alone, the struggles, the pain, the hope that never died.
And as I listened, something inside me mended. The emptiness Id tried to fill with wealth and successit finally eased.
One evening, as we sat on the terrace, I squeezed her hand.
You know, Mum, I spent years thinking money gave my life meaning. But now now I see I wasnt chasing riches. I was chasing you.
She smiled, her tears glistening.
Family is what gives life meaning, my son. Never forget that.
And in that moment, I understood: all the gold and all the mansions in the world could never compare to a single word*Mother.*
**Lesson Learnt:** Pride blinds us. Love redeems us. No fortune can replace the hands that first held you.
