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“Mommy, rest.”
Mika stood and pulled a thick envelope from his jacket.
“There is money here for medicine, for food.”
Grace pushed the envelope away.
“I do not need your charity.”
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He frowned.
“This is not charity.”
She looked at him, her voice sharp despite her weak body.
“You cannot come back after all this time and try to fix things with money. Keep it.”
Mika said nothing, but inside, he felt the weight of something unfinished.
This woman was hiding a truth.
And he would not leave until he knew it.
Mika came back the next day.
Then the day after.
And the day after that.
Every afternoon after school, Hope found him near her stand with a smile, a storybook, or a snack.
At first she was shy, but soon they laughed together like old friends. She showed him her notebooks. He helped her with her homework.
“Why is English so hard?” she grumbled one day.
“Even rich people struggle with that,” he joked, making her laugh.
Sometimes he simply sat in silence while she ate roasted corn and he watched village life pass by—something he had not done in years.
In those moments, Mika felt something strange in his chest.
Not pride.
Not power.
Peace.
Real peace—the kind no villa or business deal had ever given him.
But peace comes at a price.
One afternoon, his assistant pulled him aside and whispered urgently.
“Sir, this is the third meeting you’ve missed.”
“I am taking care of something important,” Mika said calmly.
“Sir, the board is worried. The media has spotted you in the slums again. Investors are asking questions.”
Mika sighed and glanced at Hope.
She was sitting on a small step, drawing in the dirt with a stick, humming a song only children seem to know.
The assistant leaned closer.
“Whatever this is, it’s not just business anymore, is it?”
Mika did not answer.
Deep inside, he already knew.
That little girl was pulling him away from his empire—and he was letting her.
Mika sat on the balcony of his enormous mansion, the city lights glittering behind him, a glass of wine in his hand, a silk robe on his back.
A perfect life by every standard.
Across from him sat Tiana—elegant, beautiful, the kind of woman everyone expected him to marry. She was flipping through wedding catalogs.
“This one is beautiful,” Tiana said, showing him a photo of a beach ceremony. “Simple, but classy.”
Mika nodded slowly, but his eyes were not on the pictures.
His mind was not even in the room.
It was back in the village, with a little girl drawing in the dirt and a woman coughing too much, hiding her pain behind silence.
Tiana placed her hand over his.
“Mika, you’re not here. Talk to me. What is going on?”
He forced a small smile.
“Just work. A lot is happening this week.”
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