The sun shone brightly over the grand church entrance in downtown Dallas on a warm spring morning.
Carla looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror inside the bride's dressing room.
Her white lace gown cost more money than most average working people made in a full year.
She adjusted her diamond necklace while her two bridesmaids cheered and praised her perfect appearance.
Today she was marrying David, the wealthy CEO of a rising real estate company in Texas.
David had spent millions building his company from the ground up after growing up in poverty.
Carla loved the private jet flights, the luxury car collection, and the fancy mansion he owned.
She did not care much about his past, as long as his present bank balance stayed high.
Out in the main foyer, the marble floors gleamed under the soft overhead lighting.
An older woman named Eleanor walked slowly through the double glass doors of the church entrance.
Her coat was old and faded, and her simple shoes showed heavy wear from years of walking.
She clutched a small folded pink baby blanket tightly inside her coat pocket with trembling fingers.
Eleanor had searched for months to find out where her biological son was getting married today.
She had given him up for adoption thirty years ago when she was sick and completely broke.
She never wanted money or a trust fund from him after all these long years apart.
She only wanted to hand him the blanket and see his face one last time today.
Carla stepped out into the hallway to check on the flower arrangements near the front doors.
She spotted the poorly dressed older woman standing near the framed artwork on the clean wall.
Carla pulled her delicate lace train away as if Eleanor carried some terrible contagious disease.
Carla: What is a beggar doing inside my private venue right now?
Eleanor: Excuse me, miss, I am looking for David before the ceremony starts.
Carla: He does not talk to street people like you on his special day.
Eleanor: Please, I just need two minutes with him to explain who I am.
Carla: Security will throw you out into the street if you take another step.
Eleanor reached out her thin hand toward the sleeve of Carla's expensive dress in desperation.
Eleanor: Please, listen to me, I am his biological mother!
Carla gasped loudly and pulled back her arm as if she had been burned by fire.
She raised her hand and delivered a harsh slap across the poor woman's pale cheek.
The loud crack echoed through the high ceilings of the empty church entrance hallway.
Carla: Get your filthy hands off my dress!
She shoved Eleanor hard by the shoulders, sending the fragile old woman falling backward heavily.
Eleanor hit the hard marble steps with a dull thud, dropping the small pink blanket nearby.