The Million-Dollar Heart

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.

repeated between sobs, her voice filled with a heartbreaking mix of relief and

bath and fresh clothes, foregoing

and angry, the edges dark and inflamed. Even in

offering it

the meal with a ferocity born of long deprivation, nearly choking in her haste. Cecilia handed her a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and

tears flowing anew. "Auntie, I thought I'd never see you again," she said, her voice choked with

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

and your mother supposed

absconding with their children and their shares of the family fortune-a sum substantial enough

expected to see any Boyd again, let

a tale of betrayal and loss. They had indeed gone abroad, found universities, and planned new beginnings, but Mara's mother had fallen prey

her voice trembling. "When I accused him, she

her children;

her tragic tale. After a falling out, she found herself alone when the swindler vanished with their remaining money, leaving

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 led

a ticket back to the country. However, during the transfer, I lost signs of Huxley. He had all our

aching for her niece. The bond of family,

taken aback, never having imagined that Mara's