Mark fell silent. He could see the old soldier’s dignity—his heart breaking, yet his posture still proud.
He typed on his calculator.
“All right, Sir. I’ll buy it.”
He pulled out a thick envelope.
“One hundred thousand pesos (₱100,000).”
Lucas’s eyes widened.
“Sir, that’s too much! Even the appraisal is only twenty thousand!”
“Please accept it,” Mark said softly.
With trembling hands, Lucas took the envelope.
“Thank you… This will save Nena.”
He turned to leave, the medal left behind on the counter. It hurt—but it had to be done.
“Sir, wait,” Mark called out.
Lucas turned around.
Mark handed the medal back to him.
“What? You already paid for it,” Lucas said in shock.
Mark stepped out from behind the counter, held Lucas’s hand, and closed his palm around the medal.
“Sir, the money is yours—it’s my help. But the medal? I cannot take it.”
Mark stood straight and saluted him.
“Gold can be bought. Medicine can be bought.
But the heroism and sacrifice you gave for this country—those can never be bought.”
Lucas broke down in tears.
The soldier who never cried in war finally collapsed before the kindness of a stranger.
He left the shop with hope that his wife would live—and with his dignity still hanging on his chest.
Three months later.
Sir Mark was busy in the shop when the door opened.
A young man entered, carrying a small wooden box.
“Are you Sir Mark?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mark replied.
“I’m the nephew of Sgt. Lucas Ramirez.”
Mark smiled.
“How is he? And his wife?”
The young man bowed his head.
“Lola Nena recovered because of your help. They were able to go home and share a few happy months together. But Lolo Lucas passed away last week—peacefully, holding his wife’s hand.”
Mark was silent.
The young man placed the box on the counter.
“This was his request. He told me to give this to you.”
Mark opened the box.
Inside was the Gold Cross Medal—and a handwritten letter.
He read:
Sir Mark,
Thank you for extending my wife’s life. You were right—heroism cannot be bought.
But a medal belongs with someone who has a heart for others.
In war, I proved my courage.
In your shop, I learned that there are heroes without uniforms.
Please accept this—not as payment, but as a legacy.
– Sgt. Lucas
Tears fell from Mark’s eyes.
He never sold the medal.
Instead, he framed it and placed it at the center of the shop.
Beneath it were not a price tag, but the words:
“NOT FOR SALE.
OWNED BY A HERO,
GIVEN BY A FRIEND.”