A wealthy gentleman rudely disparaged a poor youngster polishing footwear in a subway tunnel, refusing to compensate him. However, destiny reunites them unexpectedly the following day, resulting in an unforeseen development neither could have anticipated.

The subway tunnel resonated with the noise of swift steps. Among the crowd, 14-year-old Martin sat silently against the wall, his shoe-cleaning tools laid out in front of him. His gaze moved hopefully toward each passing foot, wishing for a client.

“Only a few,” he murmured to himself. “Only a few today, I ask.”

Throughout the day, Martin’s belly rumbled in complaint. The small breakfast of two bread pieces seemed like a far-off memory now. He grabbed his water container, drinking a tiny amount to ease the hunger pains.

“You will manage this, Martin,” he encouraged himself. “For Mom and Josephine.”

The idea of his immobile mother and younger sister waiting at home increased his bravery. He put on his brightest smile, prepared to face any challenge the day brought.

“Shoe polish, sir? Ma’am?” he called out, his tone barely noticeable above the noise of the tunnel.

Time passed slowly, yet nobody paused. Martin’s expectations started to lessen, but he stayed determined. As the midday sun shone down, he finally allowed himself a brief rest. Searching through his old leather sack, he took out a small orange, his midday meal for today.

Just as he started to remove the peel, a set of unclean brown leather shoes landed before him with a loud bang.

“Be quick, boy. Clean them. I need to leave,” a harsh voice ordered.

Martin glanced up, his pulse speeding with both joy and fear. The man standing over him showed wealth from his head to his feet. This might be his chance for a good payment.

“At once, sir!” Martin replied, putting aside his orange and reaching for his tools.

As he worked on the brown leather shoes, the man grew more impatient. “Why is this taking so long? I am busy!”

Martin’s hands shook slightly, but he concentrated on giving excellent service. “Nearly finished, sir. I promise they will look excellent.”

The man laughed mockingly. “When I was your age, I earned more than my father. I was not shining shoes like a poor person.”

Those remarks hurt poor Martin deeply. Three years had passed since a drunk driver had ended his father’s life, leaving their family broken. The memory of that terrible night still troubled Martin—the loud tire sounds, the awful crash of metal, and the terrible news that came after.

Only months after his father died, Martin’s life fell apart further when his mother Mariam had a stroke, leaving her unable to move. At just eleven years old, he took on the role of provider, giving up his childhood to follow his late father’s profession as a shoe shiner.

The memories almost overwhelmed him, but he pushed them away. He needed to complete his task. He had a family to support.

“You consider this polishing?” the man mocked, checking his shoe. “My pet dog would clean better using his tongue!”

Martin’s face reddened with embarrassment. “I apologize, sir. I can attempt it again—”

“Nevermind,” the man interrupted him, taking out his phone. “Yes, Sylvester speaking. Move the meeting to 4. I will arrive late, because of this unskilled child.”

While Sylvester complained on his phone, Martin thought about happier days. He recalled his father’s kind hands directing him, showing him how to shine shoes properly.

“It involves more than just the polish, son,” he would explain. “It concerns respect. Handle each shoe as if it is the most significant one you will ever touch.”

“Hello! Are you paying attention?” Sylvester’s harsh tone pulled Martin back to the present. “What is your father doing, letting you work here like this? Too idle to work himself, right?”

Martin felt his throat constrict. “My father… he died, sir.”

Sylvester looked at him suspiciously. “I understand now. So your mother has probably found someone new, having more children to send out begging, correct? Don’t you all have better activities?”

Martin clenched his hands tightly, but maintained a courteous smile. “The cost is $7, sir.”

“SEVEN DOLLARS?” Sylvester shouted. “For this terrible shine job? No way, boy.”

Before Martin could respond, Sylvester grabbed his shoes and walked away quickly, leaving Martin with no payment and crushed spirits.

“Stop!” he yelled, running after the man. “Please, sir! I require that money. Please!”

But Sylvester had already entered his car, driving off, abandoning poor Martin in a cloud of dirt and letdown.

He fell back against the wall, tears falling down his face. He gazed at the sky, picturing his father’s face.

“I am trying, Dad,” he said quietly. “I am really trying.”

His father’s final words came to his mind: “Remember, son. Never surrender. Every obstacle brings you closer to your goals. Remember.”

Drying his tears, Martin went back to his position. He had no time for feeling sorry for himself. No time for crying.

The following day, Martin returned to his usual location, preparing his tools with resolve. Suddenly, a disturbance nearby got his interest.

“Help! Someone assist!” a woman’s desperate voice cut through the air.

Martin hurried toward the noise, his heart beating fast.

A small group had formed around a luxurious car, and surprisingly, he identified the person inside. SYLVESTER. The same privileged man who had insulted him.

“He is choking on an apple!” someone screamed. “The car doors are secured!”

Without delay, Martin picked up a stone from the roadside and broke the car window. Glass scattered everywhere as he reached inside to open the door.

“Move away!” he commanded, pulling Sylvester onto the sidewalk.

Using all his strength, Martin gave several hard strikes to Sylvester’s back. Then, a piece of apple shot from Sylvester’s mouth, and he inhaled deeply.

“You… you rescued me,” Sylvester breathed, looking up at Martin with large, astonished eyes.

Martin aided him to stand, his own hands trembling. “Are you well, sir?”

Sylvester nodded, still regaining his breath. “I cannot believe this. After my treatment of you yesterday… Why did you assist me?”

Martin gave a simple shrug. “It seemed like the correct action to take.”

Tears welled up in Sylvester’s eyes. “I feel terrible, boy. I behaved awfully toward you. Please, allow me to compensate you. State your cost. Anything at all!”

Martin contemplated briefly, then looked directly at him. “Just the $7 from our previous meeting. That is my only request.”

Sylvester gazed at him with astonishment. “But… I could provide much more. Perhaps a fresh beginning?”

Martin declined with a head shake. “I do not require a fresh beginning, sir. I simply need to support my family.”

With hesitation, Sylvester paid the money. As the onlookers moved away, he stayed, examining Martin’s expression. “You are quite remarkable, boy. What do they call you?”

“Martin, sir.”

Sylvester moved his head slowly in acknowledgment. “Martin. I will not forget this incident… or you.”

As Sylvester departed toward his vehicle, Martin held the hard-won cash tightly in his hand. He glanced upward at the sky once more, a small grin spreading across his face.

“I keep your words in mind, Dad,” he said softly. “I always will.”

The subsequent morning, Martin was startled awake by his sister’s thrilled cries.

“Marty! Marty! Come here fast!”

He dashed outside, his mother calling after them in bewilderment. There, at their entrance, sat a white sack filled with money and a message.

With shaking hands, Martin recited aloud:

“Gratitude seems inadequate for your actions. I understand you would reject this offer. But you should enjoy a carefree childhood. I found your location in just one hour. Our world proves quite compact, yes?! I hope our paths cross again someday, and I hope you maintain that pure golden heart!

— Sylvester.”

Tears of happiness and amazement appeared in Martin’s eyes. His sister bounced excitedly, and their mother called from inside, clearly stunned at the sight of so much money.

“Martin? What happens here?” she moved forward in her wheelchair.

Martin’s thoughts whirled. This sum could alter everything: his mother’s medical care, Josephine’s schooling, and their entire future outlook. But should he accept such generosity?

He walked to the small sacred space in their modest home, taking two paper pieces. On one, he wrote “REMEMBER,” and on the other, “FORGET.” He folded them, mixing them with his fingers.

Igniting a candle before the crucifix, Martin shut his eyes. “Dad,” he whispered, “guide me to the right decision.”

With a deep inhalation, he selected a folded paper piece and carefully opened it. A slight smile brightened his face when he viewed the word “REMEMBER.”

In that instant, Martin understood. He would take the money, not for personal gain, but for his family’s benefit. He would honor his father’s teachings, his own difficulties, and the compassion that can exist even in the most hardened individuals.

“Josephine!” he shouted, his tone filled with feeling. “Tell Mom we will visit the doctor today. And afterward… perhaps we will buy ice cream on our return journey. Get Mom a nicer mattress. And plenty of food supplies for the whole week!”

As Josephine’s joyful screams echoed around them, Martin pressed the note against his heart. He had kept his father’s wisdom in mind, and through this, he had discovered a path ahead.