Ms. Carla took Popoy’s hand. “There’s no need,” she smiled, tears streaming down her face. “Keep your money. This necklace… is free.”
“T-Thank you!?” Popoy exclaimed, shocked.
He clutched the velvet box to his chest as if fearing the world might snatch it away at any moment. “But… ma’am… I worked hard for that money,” he insisted. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Ms. Carla shook her head. “The right thing, son, you already did a long time ago.”
She leaned in and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear: “This boy has paid for this necklace with something far more valuable than money: with sacrifice, love, and dignity.”
A murmur went through the customers. An elegant woman with a pearl necklace approached slowly. “Ms. Carla,” she said, her voice breaking, “can I… can I contribute something for the boy?”
Behind her, another customer pulled out his wallet. Then another. And another. Bills began to appear on the counter as if growing out of nowhere. Popoy backed away, frightened. “No, no… I didn’t come to ask for charity.”
Ms. Carla raised her hand. “Nobody is giving you a handout, Popoy. This is respect.”