They left the rich part of the city and entered narrow roads filled with dust and noise. Small shops opened slowly. Children walked barefoot. Richard looked out the window and felt something tighten in his chest. He had built companies, owned buildings, but he had never truly seen places like this.
“Here,” Lena said softly.
The car stopped in front of a small house with cracked walls and a broken door. The roof leaned slightly to one side. Richard stepped out and followed her inside.
The air smelled of sickness.
On a thin mattress on the floor lay Mary, Lena’s mother. Her body shook with every cough. Her eyes were half open, her lips dry and pale.
“Mom,” Lena whispered, kneeling beside her. “I brought help.”
Mary tried to smile but couldn’t.
Richard stood still, shocked. This woman was dying slowly, quietly—while her daughter cleaned floors in his mansion.
He knelt down beside the mattress.
“Call an ambulance,” he said firmly into his phone.
Within minutes, the small room filled with movement and sound. Neighbors gathered. Sirens echoed. Mary was lifted onto a stretcher.
Lena cried as she held her mother’s hand. “Please don’t die,” she whispered again and again.
Richard stayed close.