The Million-Dollar Heart by Rebecca Ryan

The Ellington Mansion.

Cecilia had just picked up her daughter, Isolde, from school and was looking forward to unwinding with some cartoons and a quick bite of afternoon snacks. This tradition had become their little sanctuary of mother-daughter bonding.

Just as they were settling in, the doorbell chimed persistently.

“Aurelia, who could that be?” Cecilia called out, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice.

Aurelia, the housekeeper, appeared at a loss for words. “Madam, perhaps you’d better come see for yourself. It’s, uh…”

The hesitation in Aurelia’s voice was enough to pique Cecilia’s curiosity. She set her snack aside and rose from the couch. “Who is it? What’s with all the mystery?” she muttered as she approached the door.

As she reached the entryway, Cecilia stopped dead in her tracks, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock. Words failed her as she stood face-to-face with a sight too startling for words.

Isolde scampered over, her youthful curiosity piqued. “Mom, what’s wrong? Oh, is that a beggar?”

The figure at the door was indeed a sight to behold. With a wild mane of hair resembling a lion’s, a face smeared with grime, and clothes exuding a pungent stench, the visitor looked every inch the part of a beggar. The most frightening feature, however, was the jagged scar slashing across their face.

At Isolde’s blunt assessment, the disheveled visitor suddenly collapsed to her knees, crying out, “Auntie, I’ve finally found you!”

Isolde clung to Cecilia, startled by the intensity of the moment.

Regaining her composure, Cecilia handed Isolde to Aurelia and knelt to brush the hair from the beggar’s face gently. “Mara, how did you end up like this?”

The beggar was none other than Mara Boyd, Cecilia’s niece and the youngest daughter of the Boyd family’s second branch.

Mara was weeping uncontrollably, her tears tracing clean lines down her dirt-streaked face, adding a touch of absurdity to the tragic scene.

found you,” she repeated between sobs, her voice filled with a heartbreaking mix of relief

bath and

cleaned up, her original features emerged from beneath the grime, though the untreated scar still marred her face, red and angry, the edges dark and inflamed. Even in her clean state, Isolde was visibly frightened,

bowl of steaming chicken ramen, offering it with a gentle, “Ms. Boyd, please eat

and began to devour the meal with a ferocity born of long deprivation, nearly choking

juice and softly patted her back. “Take it

tears flowing anew. “Auntie, I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, her voice choked

she had thought different—kinder, not as callous as the rest. However, she was wrong. Yet, seeing Mara so vulnerable, her maternal instincts still took

weren’t you and your mother supposed to be abroad? How did this

and their shares of the family fortune—a sum

again, let

recounted a tale of betrayal and loss. They had indeed gone abroad, found universities, and planned new beginnings, but Mara’s mother had fallen prey to a con artist who squandered their wealth and nearly assaulted

“When I accused him, she took his side, blamed me, said no man would want me with my

had always doted on her children; this

herself alone when the swindler vanished with their remaining money, leaving

and said, “Karma is indeed cruel. What happened

and I were expelled because we couldn’t pay the tuition. We thought of selling our house and using that money to come back, so at least we’d have some form of guarantee in life. But that swindler had used our house as a mortgage. That was when we found out that guy was a gambler who

we had left, Huxley and I bought a ticket back to the country. However, during the transfer, I lost signs of Huxley. He had all our luggage. My

her niece. The bond of family, it seemed, could withstand even

aback, never having imagined that Mara’s life would have

saying, “Sweetheart, you rest up here for a while. I’ll have

a whisper of gratitude. “Thank you, Auntie, for taking me in. I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been foolish.