The afternoon sun beat down on the crowded streets of downtown Chicago. People rushed past, their eyes glued to their phones, too busy to notice the little girl sitting on the grocery store steps. Her clothes were worn paper-thin, her hair tangled by wind and worry.
In her arms, she cradled a tiny baby boy wrapped in an old blanket. His cries were soft, but desperate — the kind that came from hunger, not tears. Yet to the city, they were invisible.
“Please, sir…” the girl whispered as a man in a tailored suit strode by. “I’ll pay you back when I’m grown up. I just need a small box of milk for my brother. He’s hungry.”
The man paused mid-step. Thomas Reed — a name everyone in Chicago’s business world knew. A ruthless millionaire, a real-estate magnate, a man who built his empire brick by brick and heart sealed shut. People whispered he cared only for power, not people.
He turned, brows drawn. “Where are your parents?”
“They’re… gone,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please. I just need milk.”
Around them, people slowed, waiting, judging. Most expected Thomas to dismiss her — maybe lecture her, maybe ignore her like everyone else had.
Instead, he crouched down, eye-level with her. And for a moment, he wasn’t Thomas Reed, the billionaire with steel in his voice. He was a boy again — cold, hungry, forgotten by the world like she was now.
