Rain stung my face as I huddled against the bus stop, rags soaked through, stomach gnawing at itself. I watched my son stride past in a tailored coat, eyes forward, ignoring my outstretched hand. My daughter stepped around me like I was trash. Then she came—Lena, the girl I disowned, pushing a noodle cart.\n\nShe didn’t recognize me, not really. Just saw a hungry old man. "Here," she said, pressing a warm cup into my hands. "Eat, Grandpa."\n\nTears mixed with rain. In that moment, every boardroom victory meant nothing. That night, I called my lawyer. The will would change.