It was a frigid December morning in downtown Chicago when Ethan Wallace, a 35-year-old tech millionaire, stepped out of his Tesla to grab a coffee before a business meeting. He was checking his emails when something on the sidewalk stopped him in his tracks.
There, seated against a brick wall, was a woman with matted hair, a tattered coat draped over her shoulders, and three children huddled against her for warmth. She held a piece of cardboard that read:
“Please help us. Anything helps.”
But it wasn’t the sign that stopped Ethan. It was her face.
Clara.
His ex-girlfriend from college, the woman he’d once imagined marrying. And the three children beside her… they resembled him in a disturbing way. The same delicate nose, the hazel eyes, the dimples. His heart began to pound.
