BILLIONAIRE RETURNS AFTER 18 YEARS TO SEE HIS EX WIFE… AND FREEZES AT WHAT HE SEES…

Emily’s jaw clenched. It was a clumsy attempt to shove Marcus back out the door with any excuse she could find.

Marcus understood: she’d noticed. She’d put the pieces together faster than Sarah could.

“I can help with the roof,” Marcus blurted, desperate to stay for one more minute. “I have experience with construction.”

Sarah blinked, considering. “You don’t need to trouble yourself, mister. Sorry… I didn’t ask your name.”

His name burned in his mouth.

Not ready. Not like this.

“Richard,” he lied. “Richard Thompson.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe him.

“Mr. Richard,” Sarah said, polite and gentle, “you are kind, but I can’t accept help from a stranger.”

“Let him help,” Daniel said, still staring at Marcus like he’d stepped out of a dream. “He looks like he knows how to do things.”

Emily shot her brother a furious look.

But Sarah was already nodding. “If you don’t mind… the roof really needs it. Last rain soaked Emily’s bed.”

Marcus almost choked.

His daughter slept in a bed that flooded, while he owned mansions in three states.

He forced himself not to offer money like a bandage slapped onto a severed artery.

Instead, he asked softly, “Why… why do you have trouble seeing?”

Sarah touched her face as if she’d forgotten the disability could be seen from the outside.

“Oh. A work accident, about five years ago,” she said. “I used to sew at a clothing factory in the neighboring town. A machine exploded. Shards hit my face. I lost almost all vision in my right eye. The left is blurry.”

Marcus’s fists curled under the table.

Five years ago, he’d been cutting a ribbon at the opening of his third company, smiling for cameras, champagne in his hand.

Sarah had been losing her sight.

“The doctor said surgery could help,” she added, almost cheerfully, as if she didn’t want pity. “But it’s expensive. I’d rather use money for the kids’ education.”

“And how do you support yourself now?” Marcus asked.

“I do embroidery by hand.” Sarah’s voice warmed with pride. “Towels, dishcloths, things like that. Emily helps. Daniel sells drawings to tourists on the road.”

Marcus looked around again, noticing details he’d missed: delicate embroidered pieces on the walls, vibrant threads arranged in neat bundles, work so precise it looked like patience made visible.

“May I see your embroidery?”

Sarah brightened. She rose slowly and moved toward an old dresser, her cane tapping lightly, the sound of perseverance.

Emily brought several pieces over, reluctant.

Marcus examined them.

They weren’t “good for a small town.” They were exceptional. The kind of work that would sell in high-end boutiques for hundreds.

“How much do you charge?” he asked.

“It depends,” Sarah said. “This one… ten dollars.”

Ten.

Marcus spent more than that on coffee without noticing.

He pulled out his wallet and placed a hundred on the table.

“I want to buy them all.”

Sarah startled, fingers hovering over the bill. “Mr. Richard… that’s too much.”

Emily snapped, “We don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Marcus said, meeting Emily’s green-eyed glare. “It’s a fair deal. These are worth more in the city.”

Daniel crept closer, fascinated by the money like it was a rumor made real.

“Mom,” he said, “with that we could buy new paints.”

“And medicine you need,” Emily added, her resistance flickering.

Sarah’s hands trembled as she picked up the bill.

“May God bless you,” she whispered. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen kindness from a stranger.”

Kindness.

Marcus almost laughed at the irony, but it would’ve come out as a sob.

He forced another question, one he didn’t deserve to ask.

“Have you ever thought of remarrying?” he said. “Eighteen years is a long time.”

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