“That boy’s blessed beyond belief. In my next life, I want a mom like her…”
A bitter, mocking smile tugged at my lips.
If only these people knew that the real son of President Amara had to scavenge through trash in the pouring rain just to survive. Would they still look at him with envy?
Each time someone received the gift, they gasped in joy and praised Amara for her generosity.
In just ten minutes, she had given away hundreds of thousands, money that would take me years of grinding labor to earn.
When my turn finally came, I stood before the boy, holding that golden robotic dog like a crown jewel.
He looked noble, well-fed, well-dressed, sheltered from pain.
And then, my thoughts drifted to my son, frail and feverish, lying alone in a cold hospital bed.
My throat tightened like it had been stuffed with cotton.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force out those birthday blessings.
“Hey, what’s your problem? If you’ve got nothing to say, then move on! Don’t block the line!”
Someone behind me snapped, shoving me hard. I stumbled to the side, caught off guard.
Ever since my son fell ill yesterday, every last cent I had gone into keeping him alive.