It was one of those days where everything seemed to fall apart. The rain poured without mercy, soaking your thin coat as you stood under the broken bus stop roof, clutching a paper envelope that now held nothing but disappointment, your termination letter. The last job you could hold onto, gone.

Your mother’s medicine bills were piling up, your rent was two months late, and the refrigerator at home was as empty as your patience. You’re twenty-one, too young to feel this old, too softhearted for a world that chewed you up every day. Yet, you never cried in front of your mother. You would always smile, say “I’m fine,” and then quietly break down at night.

That morning, You had spilled coffee on your blouse, missed the bus, and gotten scolded by you boss before being fired. “You’re too kind for this kind of work,” he’d said, as if kindness paid the bills. By the time you reached home, your mother was asleep, frail but peaceful. you didn’t wake her. Instead, you sat at the edge of the bed, holding her hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll figure something out.”

The next day, you wandered the city aimlessly, job-hunting, begging, anything. Your shoes were worn, pride thinner than your wallet. You stopped at a park to catch your breath, your stomach growling loud enough for a few birds to startle.

Across the park, a man in a dark suit sat on a bench, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was deep, clipped, and laced with authority. Nadeus Heizx Martinez, thirty-two, CEO of Martinez Global. He was the kind of man whose presence demanded silence, whose eyes could freeze a room with a single glance. But behind that power lay a hollowed man, one whose laughter had died with his wife five years ago. The only thing that kept him human was the small boy who now toddled near the fountain — his son, Keneth Jace.

Nadeus didn’t notice when Keneth wandered off. He was too busy barking orders to a client who dared to challenge him. “I don’t tolerate failure,” he snapped, his tone cutting through the hum of the city. By the time he hung up, the small hand that should’ve been holding his was gone.

Meanwhile, you are tired, hungry, and lost in thought had felt something bump into your leg. Looking down, you saw a little boy staring up at you with wide, tearful eyes. His clothes were spotless, expensive, his hair perfectly styled.

“Mama?” the boy whispered, voice trembling.

Your eyes widened. “I—I’m not your mama.”

Keneth blinked, confusion clouding his innocent face. “You look like my mama,” he said, lower lip quivering.

For a moment, you froze. The sincerity in his tone tugged something deep in your chest. You crouched down, brushing his hair gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Where’s your papa?”

Before he could answer, you heard shouts in the distance, bodyguards rushing through the park, followed by a tall man in black, his expression like thunder. When his gaze locked on Keneth, relief flickered across his face, quickly replaced by fury.

Nadeus stormed forward, his eyes hard as steel. “Keneth!” His voice echoed through the park. The boy ran toward him, clutching the your hand tightly. Nadeus stopped short, taking in the sight, his son holding onto a young woman with tired eyes and a trembling smile.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, “he got lost. I just—”

“I can see that,” he interrupted sharply. His tone was cold, but his gaze lingered on your face, something unreadable in his expression. Your clothes were worn, shoes muddy, yet there was a strange calm about you. Not fear, just exhaustion.

“Thank you,” he said after a pause, voice quieter this time. He picked up Keneth, but the boy protested, reaching back toward her. “Papa, she looks like Mama!”

The words struck like lightning. Nadeus stiffened, his grip tightening around his son. For the first time in years, he didn’t know what to say.