But the screen lit up with a number he didn’t recognize.
He answered.
“Mr. Wellington?” a soft woman’s voice asked. “This is St. Mary’s Children’s Shelter. We need to talk to you. It’s about Lily.”
His stomach tightened.
Lily.
The little girl he had been quietly sponsoring for two years.
No press releases.
No charity galas.
Just monthly checks and the occasional Saturday visit when he needed to remember that life was more than stock charts.
“What about her?” he asked, his voice rough.
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