A sleek black SUV pulled up. Two men in suits stepped out, and then she saw him—Richard Coleman. Pale but alive, leaning on a cane, he walked toward her slowly.

“You,” he said softly, his voice still weak. “You saved my life.”

Amara shrugged. “I just did what my mom taught me.”

Richard sat beside her. For a moment, silence hung between them—two lives worlds apart, yet bound by one moment in the sky. Then Richard leaned closer and whispered words that made Amara’s eyes fill with tears:

“I should have been there for my own daughter… but I wasn’t. You reminded me of her.”

His Pain, Her Tears
Amara froze. She didn’t fully understand, but she could feel the weight in his voice. Richard explained in fragments. Years ago, his teenage daughter had overdosed while he was away chasing business deals. He had all the money in the world, but he hadn’t been present when she needed him most.

“I lost her because I cared more about contracts than family,” he admitted, eyes wet.