Then he saw it.
A mattress lay abandoned near the roadside refuse heap.
He stopped.
He dropped his sack and walked closer. Dust covered it, but it was still firm, still whole.
“A mattress,” he whispered.
For months, he and Grace had slept on bare cement. This—this was not just foam. It was comfort. It was mercy.
He bent, lifted one end, and nearly collapsed under its weight. It was far heavier than it should have been, but he did not care.
“Even if it kills me, I will take it,” he muttered.
He dragged it all the way to the unfinished building, sweating, panting, ignoring the laughter of passersby. When Grace saw it, her eyes widened.
“David! Where did you get this?”
“By the roadside. We will not sleep on the floor anymore.”
Grace touched it gently and smiled with relief. “This is truly a blessing.”
Neither of them knew that deep inside the mattress were tightly packed bundles of foreign currency—dollars, pounds, and euros—Richard’s secret fortune.
Back at the mansion, things had exploded.
Richard had returned from his hotel, only to find Vanessa waiting in fury.
“You disappear for days and come back smelling like another woman!” she screamed. “Do you take me for a fool?”
Richard, half drunk and irritated, snapped back. “I provide for you. I built this house. Yet you still nag like a market woman.”
Vanessa’s anger boiled over. “What use are your cars and money when you shame me in this city? You call yourself a man, but you are nothing but a cheat and a coward!”
Richard slapped her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Vanessa staggered back, her cheek burning, but she did not cry. “You will not break me,” she hissed.
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