The elderly woman collecting cardboard only stopped outside the mansion to ask for a glass of water… no one expected the owner of the estate to start trembling the instant he recognized her voice.

By midnight, the grand mansion was silent once again.

The wealthy investors had departed. Arthur Sterling had taken the legal documents to his personal legal team to ensure they were protected from any tampering by Victoria’s corporate lawyers. Before leaving, Arthur had embraced Martha once more, promising that his foundation would immediately handle any legal battles required to secure her rightful share of the Vance estate.

Victoria was upstairs in the master bedroom, screaming at her personal assistants while luggage was aggressively thrown into designer trunks. Her frantic footsteps echoed through the ceiling boards above.

Downstairs, the house was dark, save for a single lamp burning in the grand study.

Gavin had changed out of his Italian suit. He now wore a simple pair of old jeans and a plain gray cotton shirt—clothes that looked remarkably like the ones he used to wear as a young boy in Miller's Creek.

He walked out onto the front porch carrying a tray.

On the tray were two simple glass tumblers filled with clean water from the kitchen tap.

Martha was sitting on the top step of the porch, looking out over the moonlit lawn toward the iron gates. Her rusted cart was parked neatly near the stone pillar outside.

Gavin walked over slowly, his shoes silent on the stone. He sat down beside her on the cold step, just like they used to sit on the back porch of the tiny baker's shop thirty-four years ago.

He set the tray down between them and picked up one of the glasses, handing it to her.

"Here," Gavin whispered softly. "I brought you some water."

Martha looked at the glass, then turned her eyes to Gavin’s worn, humble face. The arrogant CEO was gone. In his place sat the terrified, broken boy who had lost his way thirty years ago.

Martha accepted the glass. Her calloused fingers brushed against his.

Gavin picked up his own glass and immediately brought it to his lips, taking a large, desperate gulp to soothe his dry, burning throat.

Martha watched him, a faint, bittersweet smile touching her lips.

"Drink slowly first, little Gavin," she said softly, her voice echoing the exact words she had spoken at the gate hours earlier. "You always swallowed water too fast."

Gavin stopped. He lowered the glass, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"I threw away thirty years, Martha," Gavin choked out, staring down at the water in his hands. "I traded you... I traded my father's name... for a house filled with people who hated me the second I became poor."

"You didn't throw it away, Gavin," Martha replied gently, reaching out and laying her frail, warm hand over his trembling knee. "You just got lost in the dark. It takes a long time for some people to find their way back to the light."

"Can I ever fix this?" Gavin asked, his voice filled with a desperate, childlike yearning. "Can I ever make up for what I did to you?"