The man stared at the boy.

“That’s impossible.”

The child pointed toward the glass beside his wheelchair.

“Don’t drink that.”

The man looked at his wine.

“Why?”

“My mom used to take care of you.”

His breathing stopped.

“What was her name?”

“Claire.”

The man knew the name immediately.

Claire had been his private nurse.

She had disappeared six months earlier.

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded medical report.

“My mom told me to give you this if I ever found you alone.”

The man opened it.

His hands began shaking.

The report showed normal nerve function.

No permanent paralysis.

Then he saw another page.

Blood tests.

Sedatives.

Muscle suppressants.

Given to him almost every day.

He slowly looked across the rooftop.

His wife stood near the bar.

Watching them.

The boy whispered,

“Mom found out she was putting it in your drinks.”

The man went pale.

“Where is your mother?”

The boy’s eyes filled.

“She disappeared after she tried to tell you.”

The wife began walking toward them.

The boy grabbed the man’s hand.

“Stand up.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

The man gripped the wheelchair.

His legs trembled.

Then, slowly—

he stood.

Every conversation on the rooftop stopped.

His wife froze.

The man looked at her from across the terrace.

For three years, she had pushed his wheelchair.

Prepared his medicine.

Controlled his company.

Controlled his life.

Now she was staring at him standing on his own.

The boy looked up.

“You promised me a million dollars.”

The man never took his eyes off his wife.

“You’re getting more than that.”

He tightened his hand around the medical report.

“You’re getting your mother back.”