A hungry little girl shared her only sandwich with a boy in a wheelchair. She had no idea that the man watching her from a distance was a millionaire and the father of the boy who would change her life forever. Lupita went through another garbage bag behind the La Merced market, her small fingers searching through wrappers and scraps in the hopes of finding something edible to take home. At just 11 years old, she knew every corner perfectly, and since she threw away food that was still usable, her tired eyes showed a maturity unbecoming of her age, a result of almost 2 years living on the streets since her father passed away and the family lost everything. The scorching sun punished her brown skin as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the worn sleeve of a t-shirt several sizes too big for her thin body when her hands found a nearly intact ham sandwich, wrapped and apparently discarded by mistake. Her eyes shone as if she had found a treasure. Two days of eating only the leftovers she got from that same market had left her stomach aching and her head dizzy. Lupita put the A precious cake in her worn pants pocket, looking around to make sure no one had seen her. The vendors there were usually friendly and pretended not to notice her, but the manager had already threatened to call the police several times. Lupita walked away from the market, crossing busy streets where people hurried by without noticing her. It was as if she were invisible in that world of adults busy with their own lives. Her bare feet were already calloused, immune to the pebbles and hot asphalt that others wouldn’t stand. When she reached Plaza Hidalgo, she decided to sit down, rest, and eat her precious food. Her stomach growled, begging for food, but she knew she should save half to take to her little brothers who were waiting with their sick mother under the inner circuit bridge. It was then that her eyes fell on a boy sitting alone in a wheelchair watching the others play. He seemed to be almost her age, perhaps a little older. He was wearing nice, clean clothes, but his face reflected a deep sadness that Lupita recognized immediately. It was the same kind of loneliness she saw every day in the mirror. An improvised snack she kept among her few belongings. The boy had close-cropped brown hair and eyes that seemed lost in distant thoughts. His hands rested motionless on the wheelchair wheels as if he had given up on moving for a few minutes. Lupita simply watched. She saw how the other children played without inviting him, how the nannies and mothers sitting on the benches gave him pitying glances, and how he pretended not to care, but Lupita knew that look too well to be fooled. The boy’s stomach growled loud enough for her to hear, and that’s when she noticed he had been there for a long time without anyone bringing him anything to eat or drink, despite the intense heat. Lupita looked at her cake and then at the boy. No matter how hungry she was, something inside her moved her without a second thought. She stood up and walked toward him. Her bare, dirty feet contrasted with the shiny, new sneakers of the boy in the wheelchair. Do you want to share with me? You look hungry, she said. Lupita extended half of the cake toward him, her voice was soft and husky, rarely used in recent days. The boy looked at her in surprise as if he wasn’t used to someone addressing him directly. His eyes widened, alternating between Lupita’s dirty face and the cake in her hand. “Are you offering me food?” He asked incredulously, “but you seem to need it more than I do.” Lupita shrugged, holding her hand outstretched. “We all need to eat, and sharing makes food taste better.” My mom always says that. Hesitantly, the boy accepted the offer. His clean fingers briefly touched hers, dirty from days without a proper bath. “Thank you. My name is Diego. I’m Lupita,” he replied, sitting on the floor next to the wheelchair. Without asking permission, he broke his half into two smaller pieces, putting one in his pocket. “I have to take some for my little brothers.” What neither of them realized was that a few meters away, partially hidden by a leafy tree, a man in a fine suit was watching the scene intently. Alejandro Montero, 42, a successful businessman and owner of one of the largest construction companies in the country, had tears in his eyes as he watched his son Diego accept food from the hands of a street girl. The bodyguard at his side remained impassive, accustomed to maintaining discretion, while the boss watched his son from a distance during his In a few free moments, Alejandro had left Diego in the plaza with instructions for the nanny to stay close, but the woman was sitting several meters away.

Brought on her cell phone, that negligence would later get her fired, but at that moment, Alejandro couldn’t tear his eyes away from the unusual interaction developing between his son and the unknown girl. “Didn’t your mom come with you today?” Lupita asked, chewing slowly to make the cake last longer. Diego looked down. “My mom died a year ago.” Cancer. Lupita stopped chewing, feeling a lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry. My dad also died two years ago.” An accident at the construction site where he worked. A silence of mutual understanding formed between them, a silence that would take adults years to build. Two partial orphans connected by loss despite completely different life circumstances. “Does your dad work?” Lupita asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Diego nodded with a tired sigh that didn’t seem to belong to a child his age. All the time, I almost never see him. I have nannies and chauffeurs who take care of me. Lupita frowned, confused. “Do you have a chauffeur?” “Is your family rich?” The direct question made Diego blush slightly. “My dad owns a large company. We have a huge house, but it seems emptier than a cave.” Lupita laughed, a genuine sound that Alejandro hadn’t heard from his son in months. “I’ve never seen one in person, only on television at the appliance store.” “Don’t you have a television?” Diego asked, genuinely surprised. “I don’t have a house.” Lupita replied naturally, as if she were talking about the weather. “We live under the bridge on the inner circuit.” It used to be a shack, but the government ordered it demolished. My mom is sick, and my siblings are too young to help me get money. Diego remained silent, processing information that contradicted his entire protected world, and yet you shared your food with me. Lupita finished her piece of cake and wiped her hands on her pants. “You looked sad.” Food helps you be happy, don’t you think? Alejandro felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. The simplicity and purity of that gesture hit him like no business meeting or multi-million dollar acquisition ever had.

He had achieved in the last few months after the death of his wife, Mariana. He had buried himself in work, leaving Diego in the care of hired professionals, believing that material comfort would compensate for his absence. Seeing his son smiling for the first time in months thanks to a girl who had nothing made him question all his recent decisions. Determined to meet that extraordinary girl, Alejandro signaled for the bodyguard to remain where he was and walked slowly toward the two as he got closer.

He could hear the conversation better now about how Lupita occasionally managed to sneak into a public school to attend classes even though she wasn’t enrolled. “I like math.” The teacher also explains that it can be understood even when I look out the window. “I like math,” she said, while Diego looked at her, fascinated. “You’re very smart.” Diego replied. “I hate school. The other children ignore me because of the chair.” Lupita shrugged. “People can be Bad even when they have everything and good even when they have nothing. It was at that moment that Alejandro stopped next to the wheelchair, his shadow falling over them both. Lupita looked up and immediately flinched, instinctively recognizing the authoritative stance that usually meant trouble for those who lived on the streets. “Hey Diego, I see you made a friend,” Alejandro said, trying to sound casual although his voice betrayed emotion. “Dad.” Diego seemed surprised and slightly alarmed. “Weren’t you in a meeting? I finished early and thought I’d spend some time with you,” he replied before turning to Lupita, who was already standing up and ready to run. “And you must be Lupita,” the girl replied almost in a whisper, taking a step back. “I didn’t do anything wrong, sir.” “I was just talking.” Alejandro sensed the fear in her eyes and knelt down to be at her eye level. A gesture that surprised even his son. “I’m not angry, Lupita.” In fact, I wanted to thank you for keeping Diego company. Lupita looked at Diego, looking for confirmation that he wasn’t in trouble. The boy nodded encouragingly, although he also seemed confused by Lupita’s unusual attitude. “Your father, your son is nice,” Lupita said finally, “but I have to go, my mom worries when I’m late.” Alejandro felt an inexplicable urge to not let her leave. Something in the fragility disguised as strength of that little girl awakened in him a protective instinct that had been dormant since the death of his wife. “Wait, Lupita, maybe I can,” he began to say, but stopped when he saw the panic in the girl’s eyes when she tried to get closer. “Thanks for the cake,” he said.
Diego quickly sensed Lupita’s discomfort. “Will you come back tomorrow?” Lupita looked nervously at Alejandro, then at Diego. For a moment, it seemed she was going to answer, but in a