Chapter 3

The Jennings family was completely ruined.

After clearing out everything, I paid off all the debts, cut ties with everyone, and spent my last bit of cash on a train ticket headed south.

I was living like a stray dog, just scraping by, barely surviving.

My legs never got the treatment they needed, so now they were messed up for good. Every day, the pain almost broke me. But after a while, I went numb to it.

I kept my eyes down, my hand drifting to the pocket over my heart. Hidden inside was the money Samuel had left in that plastic bucket.

I never spent it, even though that money could've bought me a week's worth of painkillers, but I couldn't bring myself to part with it.

This was the last connection between Samuel and me.

From the very first moment I met Samuel, I could tell he was an outstanding guy.

Even without a TV or a phone, I still caught wind of Samuel's latest moves through gossip and news reports.

After he left me, he was doing great.

In just four years, he became the CEO of a big company, showed off his romance with Kathryn everywhere, and their wedding was right around the corner.

I always thought the only glimpse I'd ever get of Samuel would be on TV or in magazines. But then, just a few days ago, I crossed paths with him.

Seeing him again after four years was like stepping into a dream.

The moment I laid eyes on him, all the feelings I'd kept bottled up burst out. God, I missed him. But...

I looked at my legs and the hot dogs in front of me, and gave a wry, helpless smile.

I stuffed the hot dog into a plastic container and handed it over to the customer.

The moment he took the bag, his face fell. He snapped, "What is this? You put too much ketchup. How am I supposed to eat this?"

Before I could even say sorry, he threw the hot dog right in my face and stormed off, furious.

The hot dog burned my face, and the sharp corner of the container scratched the corner of my eye.

Feeling the shocked looks from the people around me, I kept my head down, staring at the hot dog scattered on the ground, painfully heartbroken.

I bent down with difficulty, carefully picking up the hot dog from the ground, and then gently blew the dust off it.

Just as I was about to bring the hot dog to my mouth, a pair of hands suddenly slapped it out of my grasp. I looked up and saw Samuel, his eyes filled with tears.

I had no idea how I must've looked to Samuel that night. But right now, seeing Samuel in front of me felt like an angel had dropped into my messed-up life, bringing light and hope where there was none.

Through the way he looked at me, I could see exactly what I looked like. I was sitting in a grimy wheelchair, dressed in ragged clothes, my hair tangled like a bird's nest, with the smell of grease and smoke.

I was a mess. Without thinking, I tried to escape, turning away in a panic. But I forgot that I was disabled now. My legs didn't work anymore.

I fell hard onto the ground, the rough gravel scraping my palms, and my legs caught between the wheelchair.

Samuel wiped the tears from his eyes and helped me to my feet.

I sat in my wheelchair, head lowered, unable to meet his eyes.

His gaze felt like needles, making me squirm in my seat.

After a long, awkward pause, Samuel sighed and said, "It's been four years. Would you have a coffee with me?"

*****

I sat in the spotless, well-lit café, and as the waiters walked by, they cast those subtle, sizing-up glances my way.

After all these years, I'd gotten used to people looking at me like I was beneath them. But now, sitting across from Samuel, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

I fidgeted with my hands, feeling the rough calluses and fresh cuts all over my palms.

Samuel pushed the coffee toward me, but I quickly waved him off. "No, I don't drink coffee."

Samuel blinked in surprise. "I thought this was your favorite. Have your tastes changed? I can ask the waiter to bring you something else."

His words sent a pang through my chest. Suddenly, my mind flashed back to four years ago, before the Jennings family lost everything.

Back then, Samuel would get up early every morning to make me coffee, its rich aroma waking me from my dreams.

Sometimes, I'd take him out to those upscale coffee shops.

Now, everything was flipped.

I gave a wry smile. "I don't drink coffee anymore. Just water is fine." I glanced at Samuel, feeling uneasy.

Samuel's face grew conflicted when he heard me.

I knew what he was thinking.

Back then, I never had to worry about a thing. I demanded perfection in everything and only drank imported water.

But now, I could casually say, "Just water is fine." There was no such thing as "just fine" in my old life.

Samuel didn't say a word. He asked the waiter to bring me a bottle of water.

I mumbled a thank you, and when the waiter rolled his eyes, I gave an awkward little smile.

After the waiter left, Samuel and I fell into an awkward silence.

After a long pause, Samuel finally broke the silence. "You've changed a lot."

I managed a wry smile. Of course, I'd changed. When I first got to this city, I didn't have a penny to my name, so hungry that I could barely see straight.

An old beggar shared a stale bread he'd scavenged with me. The thing reeked, and I was dry-heaving as I forced myself to choke down half of it.

I tried to find work, but with my legs messed up, nobody hired me. I couldn't even handle the most basic manual labor.

With no other options, I ended up panhandling alongside that old beggar, trying to stay warm under the bridge.

Thankfully, I had the old beggar by my side.

But one night, the old beggar came down with a high fever.

I was frantic, trying to get him to the hospital, but every car that passed took one look at us and sped away.

Looking at the old beggar, his face burning with fever, I hated my legs for letting me down for the first time.

I slung the old beggar over my back and dragged my weak, useless legs, inching toward the hospital. But halfway there, he couldn't make it.

Right before he passed, the old beggar pressed all the money he'd saved into my hands, urging me to find any job that could keep me alive. Even if it meant selling hot dogs on the street, that was still better than begging.

He said, "You're a girl. You can't live as a beggar. What if you run into trouble?"