He moved like a man wrapped in steel—tailored suits, a private driver on standby, every minute accounted for, and a heart he was certain had no room left for feeling.
Vendors called out, buses roared past, life unfolded around him. He ignored it all.
Then someone tugged at his sleeve.
Not aggressively—desperately.
“Sir, please! Help our mom!” two small voices pleaded.
Michael turned, irritation flashing across his face. He was ready to brush them off. Instead, he found himself staring at two little girls—twins—dirty, thin, eyes wide not with mischief but with fear.
“She’s dying,” one said, her lip trembling. “Please.”
His first thought was suspicion. A distraction. A scam. But as he pulled his arm back, something caught his eye—a bracelet dangling from one girl’s wrist. Red, white, turquoise beads, and a single black bead in the center.
His breath caught.
He had made that bracelet himself nearly nine years ago, sitting on a curb beside the only woman he had ever truly loved: Sofia.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice rough.
“It’s our mom’s,” the other twin replied. “She gave it to us for luck. But it didn’t work.”