Liam grew up in flea markets, subway stations, and cold nights under the bridge. He never knew what his mother looked like. Bernie only mentioned that the note had a faint smudge of lipstick on it, and a long, black strand of hair had been caught in the red bracelet.
One day, Bernie fell gravely ill with a lung infection and was taken to a public hospital. With no money for medicine, Liam had to beg harder than ever. That afternoon, he overheard people talking about a “wedding of the year” at a luxury estate on the outskirts of town.
With an empty stomach and a dry throat, he decided to try his luck.
He stood timidly near the service entrance. The tables were overflowing with gourmet food, roasts, and fine desserts. A kitchen assistant saw him, took pity, and handed him a warm plate. “Sit there and eat quickly, kid,” she whispered. “Don’t let anyone see you.”
Liam thanked her and ate in silence, watching the ballroom: the classical music, the elegant suits, the shimmering gowns. He wondered: Does my mother live in a place like this… or is she poor like me?
Suddenly, the announcer’s voice boomed: “Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome the newlyweds!”