Julian raised his hand to stop his aggressive security guards from touching her.
He was not an unkind man, despite his strict business reputation.
Julian: It is alright, just be careful next time.
The elderly woman kept her head down as she wiped the wet floor.
As she reached down, her thick blue rubber glove pulled back slightly.
Julian caught a quick glimpse of red, raised skin on her left wrist.
A sudden shock ran through his body like an electric current.
The pattern of the scar looked strangely familiar to his early memories.
It was a distinct cross-shaped scar from a heavy wooden beam burn.
Julian fell to his knees directly on the wet marble floor.
His expensive suit trousers soaked up the soapy cleaning water.
The security guards stared in absolute shock at their wealthy boss.
Guard: Sir, please get up, that floor is dirty!
Julian: Stay back, both of you!
Julian gently grabbed the old woman's cold, trembling arm.
He carefully rolled back the heavy blue rubber glove toward her elbow.
Deep, stitched scars covered her entire forearm like a thick web.
Julian's breath hitched in his throat as his eyes filled with tears.
He touched the rough skin with his shaking fingertips very softly.
He remembered those exact scars pressing against his cheek twenty years ago.
The woman tried to pull her arm back out of deep embarrassment.
Clara: Sir, please do not look at my ugly scars.
Julian: Where did you get these wounds?
Clara: An old house fire many years ago in Dallas.
Julian buried his face into her scarred arm and sobbed heavily.
The powerful executive broke down like a little child in front of everyone.
Julian: No... it is really you!
The old woman froze as she looked down at the back of his neck.
She noticed a small birthmark behind his right earlobe.
Her eyes went wide with pure disbelief and overwhelming joy.
Clara: Julian? My sweet little Julian?