The story continued…
Daniel returned to his office the next morning, his mind still haunted by the chaos at the marketthe furious shouts of the crowd, the womans piercing gaze that seemed to cut straight through his soul. He tried to shake it off. *”They dont understand. Life is a battle. The weak fall, the strong rise.”*
But his conscience wouldnt be silenced. Those eyes Why were they so familiar?
The following morning, his business partner, Mr. Whitcombe, stormed in, face grim.
“Daniel, we have a problem. That scene at the marketits gone viral. Thousands are calling you a disgrace. If we dont act, your companys reputation will be ruined.”
“What?!” Daniel snapped, but when he saw his own face on the phone screenkicking a frail womanhis blood turned cold. The caption was brutal: *”Tycoon humiliates starving mother.”*
Whitcombe exhaled sharply. “My advice? Find her. Offer money, housingmake it public. Turn it into charity. Its your only chance.”
Gritting his teeth, Daniel nodded. He hated grovelling, but his empire was at stake.
That afternoon, he returned to the market. And there she wassitting in the same tattered coat, the same sorrow in her eyes. This time, she didnt flinch. She simply watched him.
“Madam,” Daniel began, voice stiff. “I wish to make amends. I can offer you money. A home. Food.”
The woman studied him for a long moment, as if searching her memories. Then, softly, she whispered:
“Johnny?”
His heart stuttered. That namespoken so tenderlyonly one person had ever called him that. His mother.
“What did you say?” he choked out.
Her trembling fingers clasped together. “Johnny my boy is it you?”
Daniel took a step back. “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 yearsletters, jobs I never stopped hoping.”
A crushing weight seized his chest. Flashes of memory surfacedthe scent of cheap soap, soft hands in his hair, fragments of a lullaby. He didnt want to believe her.
“This is a trick. You want money,” he growled, but the fury in his voice was hollow.
Slowly, she reached into her coat and pulled out a creased photograph. A little boy stared backsix years old, clutching a toy carthe same one Daniel had loved. Beside him, the woman, young and smiling.
All his resistance shattered. His legs buckled.
“Dear God” His voice broke. “*Mum* and II kicked you”
Tears spilled in torrents. The tycoon, who had built his empire on ruthlessness, now knelt in the street before a woman in rags.
“Forgive me,” he sobbed. “I didnt know I couldnt see”
Margaret reached up, her frail fingers brushing his cheek. “No forgiveness needed, Johnny. I always knew youd come back.”
A crowd had gathered, silent, watching the broken man embrace the mother he thought hed lost.
Days later, headlines blared: *”Millionaire Finds Homeless Mother.”* But none of it mattered to Daniel. He brought her home, arranged doctors, gave her comfort. More importantly, they talkedfor hours. She told him of her years alone, her struggles, her unshaken hope.
And as he listened, something inside him healed. The void that wealth had never filled finally eased.
One evening, as they sat on the terrace, Daniel squeezed her hand.
“I spent years thinking money gave my life meaning,” he admitted. “But now now I see it was never fortune I was chasing. It was you.”
Margaret smiled, her tears glistening. “Family is everything, my love. Never forget that.”
And in that moment, Daniel understoodno gold, no palace, could ever compare to one word: *Mum.*
