“May I have your leftovers, Mrs.?”
But when the millionaire looked at her kids, a miracle happened.
The clatter of forks and quiet murmurs filled the outdoor café as Lydia Evans sat alone at a corner table. She wore a deep purple gown that shimmered with every movement, and a diamond bracelet that caught the sun. On her table sat plates of golden rice, fried chicken still steaming, and a bottle of expensive wine with a label most people couldn’t pronounce.
She barely noticed the food. Her mind was elsewhere—on the gala she had to attend later, on the gossip columnists who would scrutinize her every move, and on the suffocating life of wealth she pretended to enjoy. Then a voice broke through her thoughts. Excuse me, Mrs..?” It was soft, almost too quiet to hear. Lydia glanced up and……Read Full Story Here………………….
