Soaked by rain and trembling with hunger, a young boy once asked a wealthy stranger for help, and was coldly turned away. Thirteen years later, their paths cross again, but this time the boy holds the power to change a life.
It was raining so hard I couldn’t see past the next streetlight. The kind of rain that made your clothes stick to your skin and your shoes feel like sponges.
Heavy rain | Source: Pexels
I stood outside a restaurant with gold doors and soft music coming through the windows. I watched people eat warm food from behind the glass, while my stomach twisted.
I was ten. Cold. Wet. Tired. But mostly hungry.
I held a piece of cardboard with shaky letters: “Hungry. Please help.”
A homeless boy on the street | Source: Midjourney
Some folks walked by and didn’t even look. A man in a brown hat stepped around me like I was trash on the sidewalk. A woman in heels pulled her coat tighter and crossed to the other side. I didn’t blame them. I was just a soggy kid standing near a place that smelled like steak and bread.
Then I saw the car.
A black car driving up to a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
It was long and black, polished like a mirror. It rolled up without a sound and stopped right in front of the restaurant. A man stepped out. He was tall, with silver hair and a coat that looked heavy and warm. He didn’t look rushed like the others. He looked like he owned the night.
People said his name around town like it meant something. He ran some company.
A wealthy man stepping out of the car | Source: Midjourney
Big deals, lots of money. I’d heard his name once when I was staying at the shelter. The workers called him “the big man with the cold heart.”
I stepped forward.
“Sir? Please… I haven’t eaten in two days. Could you maybe help me? Even leftovers are fine.”
He looked at me like I was a broken window.
A boy looking up in the rain | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t beg,” he said. “Go find your parents. Get lost.”
And just like that, he walked past me.
The doors opened. Warm air poured out. Laughter, clinking glasses. I watched him step inside, dry and clean, like I never happened. The doors shut again. I was alone in the rain.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t even speak.
A sad boy looking into the camera | Source: Midjourney
But I didn’t forget.
Life didn’t get easier after that night. Not right away.
My mom died when I was seven. My dad left a year later. No one ever told me why. One morning he was just gone. I ended up in foster care. Some homes were okay. Some weren’t.
A crying boy | Source: Pexels
I didn’t talk much back then. But I listened. I watched. School became my hiding place. Books were quiet and safe. Teachers didn’t yell if you stayed in your seat and turned things in on time.
In fifth grade, I met Ms. Tully. She was my homeroom teacher. Wore big glasses and always had chalk on her hands. One day, she saw me doing extra math worksheets during lunch. I was trying to keep busy so I didn’t feel hungry.
A smiling boy with a book | Source: Pexels
She sat beside me and said, “You’re sharp, Jake. Ever think about college?”
I laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it felt impossible.
But she didn’t drop it. She met with counselors. Helped me apply for a scholarship to a private middle school. I got in.
It wasn’t magic. Life was still hard. I still moved around. Still counted every dollar. But that was the start.
A smiling boy with a book | Source: Pexels
By high school, I was tutoring other kids in math and writing code after school. I got into a good college. Full ride. Studied computer science and built apps at night in my dorm. One of them took off.
It started slow. A few downloads. Then thousands. Then millions.
I started my own company before I even graduated. By 23, I was the youngest CEO in the state.
A young man working in an office | Source: Pexels
People asked me how I did it. I always said hard work. Truth is, I never stopped being that hungry kid outside the restaurant.
That night stuck with me. The cold. The silence. The way that man looked through me like I didn’t matter.
I didn’t hate him. But I never forgot what it felt like to be invisible.
And I never stopped wondering what I’d do if I saw him again.
A young man deep in thought | Source: Pexels
The lobby was all glass and steel. Everything smelled like lemon polish and fresh coffee. I’d been to a hundred meetings like this, but something felt different that morning. My assistant had told me the interview was for a senior finance role—someone with executive-level experience. I was early, so I waited by the window with a bottle of water in hand.
That’s when I saw him.
A man in his office | Source: Pexels
He was sitting near the reception desk, shoulders tight, knees bouncing. He held a resume in one hand and a folded coat in the other. His hair was thinner now. His face had deep lines. The confident, sharp man I remembered was gone. This version looked tired. Nervous. Like he hadn’t been in a room like this in a long time.
It took a second to be sure. But it was him.
A mature man deep in thought | Source: Pexels
The same man who had walked past me in the rain thirteen years ago. Same sharp nose. Same deep voice—I could hear it now as he thanked the receptionist with a tight smile.
I just stared at him. He didn’t notice me.
That was fine. I didn’t plan to say anything yet. I wanted to see who he was now.
A moment later, the receptionist called both our names. I stood and straightened my jacket.
A young man opening a door to his office | Source: Pexels
“Right this way,” I said calmly, holding the door open.
He gave a small nod. “Thanks.”
He followed me into the conference room, glancing around. I could see it in his face—he thought I was another applicant. Just some young professional there for the same shot.
We sat across from each other.
A young man sitting at his desk | Source: Pexels
I opened his resume and let a pause fill the room.
“You’re applying for the financial advisory position,” I said, keeping my tone even.
“Yes,” he said quickly. “I have over fifteen years of experience. I used to run my own firm. I stepped away for a while, but I’m ready to bring value again.”
I nodded. “Says here your company folded.”
A mature man sitting in an office | Source: Pexels
He looked down. “Yes. Things happened. There were… mistakes. Partnerships I shouldn’t have trusted. I lost a lot. I’m just looking for a chance to get back on my feet.”
I watched him for a moment.
“Do you remember a rainy night? Outside a restaurant?”
He blinked. “I—what?”
A shocked mature man | Source: Freepik
“Thirteen years ago,” I continued. “A little boy stood outside that restaurant, soaking wet. Hungry. Holding a cardboard sign.”
He stared at me, eyes narrowing. “I don’t…”
“He asked you for food,” I said. “You told him, ‘Don’t beg. Go find your parents. Get lost.’”
He went pale.
A serious young man in an office | Source: Pexels
“I…” His voice cracked. “I don’t remember. But… that sounds like something I might have said. I’m sorry.”
“That boy,” I said quietly, “was me.”
The room fell into silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner.
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
A shocked young man in an office | Source: Freepik
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I’m not here to throw it back in your face. I’ve carried that moment with me—not out of hate. Just as a reminder.”
He leaned forward slowly, voice low. “I was a different man. I thought money meant I was better than people. I treated people like they were nothing. I’ve lost everything since then. I see it now. I do.”
I believed him. At least, I believed he meant it.
A serious young man looking at his laptop | Source: Freepik
I closed his resume. “We won’t be offering you the job,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “I understand.”
“But,” I added, reaching into my folder, “a friend of mine runs a firm. They’re hiring. And they believe in giving second chances.”
I slid a card across the table.
A man showing a business card | Source: Pexels
He picked it up like it was made of gold. His hands shook.
“You’d do that for me?”
“I would,” I said. “Because someone once believed in me when they didn’t have to.”
He stood, clutching the card, eyes glassy.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I mean that.”
A smiling mature man | Source: Pexels
I nodded once. “Good luck.”
He walked out of the room, a little straighter than before.
I stood by the window, watching people move along the sidewalk below. Some held umbrellas. Some just hurried through the rain. I thought about that night again, how cold I was, how invisible I felt. I never wanted revenge. I only wanted to matter.
A man looking out of the window | Source: Freepik
Today, I saw a man fall from the place I once watched him rise. But I didn’t push him down. I offered a hand. Because kindness isn’t weakness. It’s strength. And maybe, just maybe, that boy in the rain can finally let go of the hurt. Not forget, but forgive. And keep walking forward.
If you enjoyed reading this story, consider checking out this one: Maggie adores her daughter-in-law, Lara. So when she overhears her son, Dan, planning a night with his mistress, she refuses to stay silent. With Lara by her side, she follows him, straight to his betrayal. But exposing him just isn’t enough.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
People Tell Me My Son Should Be Taken From Me After Covering 95% of My Body in Ink
With tattoos becoming increasingly popular, it is not uncommon to come across individuals who have extensive body art. Unfortunately, some people face criticism and even calls for their children to be taken from them. One such case is that of a Canadian man named Remy who has spent over $100,000 on tattoos and has encountered criticism on social media, with some people telling him he’s not a suitable father.
He doesn’t feel guilty about being a tattooed dad.
Despite his extensive amount of ink, Remy doesn’t feel guilty about his tattoos, nor does he believe they’ve changed who he is as a person or a father. He says, “Tattoos and piercings haven’t changed at all, so I wasn’t worried that my son would see me differently.”
But the man has been criticized for not being a stereotypical father.
Remy shared that he has received online comments suggesting that his son should be taken away from him due to his appearance. He stated, “I’ve had a few people say things like my son should be taken from me because of how I look, but this is only ever online.”
He continued, “My argument to that would be that if you think that way, you should never have children yourself.”
Remy added that while people stare at him in public, they only say nice things and ask questions about his tattoos. “People stare a bit [in public] but they only say nice things and ask how long it took, how I handle the pain, and generally compliment my work,” he attests.
His child is nonchalant toward his father’s tattoos.
Remy’s first tattoo was of his son’s name, but since then, he has become obsessed with getting more and more ink. His son never really noticed his tattoos.
“He’s never really noticed them, as I was already pretty different looking [when he was born in 2009] — it’s completely normal for him. As he’s gotten older, he’s become very nonchalant, and it’s actually made him more tolerant of people being different looking, I believe,” Remy says.
In fact, Remy’s son’s favorite tattoo is the eye on his stomach and chest.
Being a good parent has nothing to do with superficial looks.
While some may argue that Remy’s tattoos make him an unfit parent, it’s important to remember that body modification is a personal choice and doesn’t necessarily reflect one’s ability to be a good parent. As long as a parent is providing a safe and loving environment for their child, their appearance should not be a factor in determining their ability to care for their children.
One of Remy’s fans explained things in a wonderful way.
As one commenter on Remy’s story put it, “You give the cloth and care about what you do. As long as you can put a roof over your child’s head, it’s not anyone’s job.” Ultimately, it’s up to each individual to decide how they want to present themselves to the world, and that decision should not be used to judge their worth as a parent.
As we conclude this story of unfair judgment and inked journeys, it’s only the beginning of our exploration into the world of those living tattooed lives. In our next article, we’ll introduce you to a mom whose 800 tattoos have become a barrier to employment, shedding light on the surprising consequences of living life fully inked.
Preview photo credit ephemeral_remy / Instagram, ephemeral_remy / Instagram
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