Chapter 3: Humiliation on the Bridge

I rushed forward, pulling Ben into my arms. Knowing I couldn’t afford to offend these people, I kept my head down, speaking with all the humility I could muster:

My voice shook as I tried to hold on to my composure. The scent of Ben’s hair, sweat mixed with that old shampoo, grounded me. I pressed him behind me, shielding him as best I could from the simmering malice that radiated from the men in the suits.

"Look, I don’t know what Ben did, but please—he’s just a kid. I’m begging you, let him go."

There was a brief silence inside the SUV. Someone rolled down the tinted window, and I felt a scorching gaze fixed on me.

I hunched my shoulders, shrinking the way you do when you know you’re not welcome.

It wasn’t so much a bow as a defensive curl, the posture of someone who’s learned to shrink themselves in the face of people with money and power. My knees ached from the cold ground, but I didn’t dare move.

The privileged young man asked softly, "You want to apologize for him? Who are you to him?"

I replied, "I am his mother."

The words rang in the air, and for a moment, I almost believed them myself. Even if the law or blood said otherwise, in my heart, it was true.

For some reason, the young man’s anger seemed to flare. He gave a cold, mocking laugh. "Fine, apologize then. But standing?"

His voice dripped with entitlement, daring me to defy him. I felt the eyes of the neighborhood on us—some watching, others pointedly looking away, as if afraid to get involved.

I understood immediately and knelt down, bowing my head so hard my forehead hit the pavement with a thud.

My knees hit the pavement so hard I saw stars. I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, but I kept my head down. If humiliation was the price, I’d pay it a hundred times for Ben.

The taste of blood and salt filled my mouth. My hands trembled, but I kept them pressed to the freezing concrete. I was used to this—in the past, whenever those high and mighty folks were angered, all I, as lowly as I was, could do was kneel and bow my head.

The bitter humiliation was as familiar as it was corrosive. I’d done it before, more times than I cared to count. But for Ben, I’d do it again and again.

I felt no shame; only by enduring could I survive.

Ben, though—Ben was terrified. He wasn’t the sort to cry, yet now he wailed, trying to pull me up: "Mom, mom, don’t do this! I was wrong, it’s all my fault!"

The sound of his voice tore through me worse than the icy ground. His small hands clung to my arm, desperately trying to save me from my own sacrifice. I’d never heard him cry out like that before.

Strangely, the young man seemed stunned as well. I had only knelt and bowed twice when the guard hurriedly pulled me to my feet.

But the broken gravel hidden in the snow had already scraped my forehead, and sticky blood blurred my vision. I never did see the young man’s face clearly.

The world was a swirl of color and confusion—fireworks exploding above, the metallic taste of fear, the damp chill of blood streaking down my face. I was dimly aware of Mrs. Lewis nearby, wringing her hands, and the other bodyguards shifting awkwardly, suddenly unsure of their power.

Seeing that they no longer meant to make trouble, I took Ben’s hand—he was still sobbing—and led him down the bridge, eyes lowered.

Each step felt heavy, but I kept my grip firm on Ben’s hand. The crowd seemed to part for us, the silence hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, all the city’s noise faded, and it was just me and my boy, hearts pounding together in the darkness.

All around was deathly quiet. The wind blew gently, and cold, fine snow drifted down.

The snowfall, so out of place for July, felt like a cruel trick from the city’s sky. Each flake stung against my raw skin, reminding me of every time I’d had to endure the cold alone.

Who could have expected that from inside the SUV, a man’s refined sigh would suddenly sound: "The snow is too heavy. Come inside."

At that moment, my heart—which had just calmed—stopped cold. Even the falling snow on my face felt like countless needles, piercing and painful.

The voice was all velvet and steel, familiar in its gentleness that barely masked a threat. I shuddered, knowing what it meant to be summoned by the man inside that car.