The woman stared at him.

“How would you know who my doctor is?”

The boy reached into his oversized shirt and pulled out a folded photograph.

His mother stood beside a man in a white coat.

The woman recognized him immediately.

Her specialist.

“My mom couldn’t walk either,” the boy said.

“She got worse every time he gave her medicine.”

The woman’s breathing changed.

“What happened to her?”

The boy looked down.

“She died.”

Silence.

Then he pointed at the plate.

“I wasn’t really trying to cure you for food.”

The woman frowned.

“I needed to see your legs.”

“Why?”

“Because before Mom died, she told me something.”

The boy’s eyes filled.

“She said if I ever found another person with that red mark, I had to warn them before the doctor came back.”

The woman looked toward the café entrance.

A man in a white medical coat had just stepped inside.

He saw the boy.

And stopped.

The boy immediately moved behind the wheelchair.

“That’s him.”

The woman’s hands began trembling.

Then the boy whispered,

“Please don’t take anything he gives you.”

She stared at the doctor approaching them.

“Why?”

The boy tightened his grip on her chair.

“Because my mom could stand too…”

His voice broke.

“…until he made sure she never did again.”