Ethan was thin, his skin tanned from long hours outdoors, his bright eyes always carrying a quiet sadness.
His mother, Grace, earned a living selling lottery tickets near the train station, walking block after block through heat, wind, and rain so her son could stay in school.
They were poor—dinner was often just rice, canned soup, and a bit of dried fish—but Grace never let Ethan miss a class. He understood their hardship. After school, he rode his old bicycle around collecting cans and cardboard to sell, hoping to ease his mother’s burden.
One afternoon, while pushing his bicycle piled high with recyclables through an upscale neighborhood, Ethan accidentally scraped a sleek black sedan. The door swung open, and a tall man in an expensive suit stepped out. His presence was imposing.
It was Mr. Raymond, a powerful real estate billionaire who owned luxury towers across the country. He frowned at the scratch, then looked down at the boy. “Kid, do you know how much this car costs?”
Ethan’s hands trembled. “I’m sorry, sir… I didn’t mean to. I collect scrap. I don’t have money to fix it.”
Mr. Raymond was ready to scold him further, but something in the boy’s clear eyes and battered bike made him pause. He sighed and waved dismissively. “Forget it. Just be careful next time.”
Relief washed over Ethan. He bowed slightly, then suddenly said, “Sir… my mom has a picture of you in her wallet.”
Mr. Raymond froze. “What did you just say? A picture of me? Who is your mother?”
“Her name is Grace. She sells lottery tickets downtown. I’ve seen your photo before, but she never lets me ask about it.”
The name struck him like a distant echo. Thirteen years ago, before wealth and fame, he had loved a girl named Grace—a gentle street vendor who used to save him a seat at her lemonade stand. Back then, he was just starting out.
When his career began rising, his family pressured him to marry into status. Driven by ambition, he walked away without explanation. Later, he heard she was pregnant. He buried the memory and convinced himself it was better not to look back.
“It’s just coincidence,” he muttered to himself, climbing into his car. Yet Ethan’s words followed him all day.