Olivia rarely reacted to expensive gifts. But she reached for the butterfly as if it were priceless. Her fingers brushed Rose’s weathered hand.
A faint sound escaped her lips. “Ah…”
Claire pressed her hand to her mouth, tears rising.
Rose smiled. “The simplest things are often the richest.”
Olivia slipped off the bench and steadied a bottle that nearly fell from the cart. Then she pointed to the cart—and to herself.
“You want to help me?” Rose asked gently.
Olivia nodded.
For the next hour, the billionaire’s daughter crushed cans beside a homeless woman, sunlight dancing in her hair. Her eyes sparkled with something new.
When it was time to leave, Rose kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to keep working, sweetheart.”
As she turned to go, Olivia ran forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her legs.
“No!” she cried.
One word. Clear. Real.
Ethan dropped to his knees in the grass, tears falling freely. His daughter had spoken—not because she was prompted, not for a toy, but because she felt connected.
The following morning, Olivia stood by the door.
“Go,” she said.
“Where?” Ethan asked, stunned.
“Grandma.”