She Begged at His Gate—The Birthmark That Changed Everything
“Sir? Please… sir, do you need a maid? I can do anything. My sister is hungry.”
The words were fragile, barely cutting through the wind and the iron gates. Charles Whitmore had learned to ignore pleas like this—but something in the soft whimper of the bundle in her arms stopped him cold.
He was late, his shoes crunching gravel after a three-hour board session that solved nothing. He reached for the latch, ready to offer the polite brush-off he gave strangers and stories he couldn’t fix.
Then he saw her. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. Dust smudged her face; hunger had carved lines in her cheeks. A tiny fist emerged from torn blankets, the baby’s weak cry echoing against the gate.
And then the wind lifted her collar—revealing a crescent-shaped birthmark just below her ear.
Charles froze. He knew that mark.
Continue reading on next page…