The restaurant went silent.

The man stared at his own foot like it had betrayed him.

The boy kept his hand there, calm but trembling.

“Three,” he whispered.

The man’s leg jerked.

His wine glass tipped over, spilling red across the marble table.

A woman in a sparkling dress stepped back, covering her mouth.

The man grabbed the armrests of his wheelchair.

“How are you doing this?”

The boy looked up at him with tired eyes.

“My mother said your legs were never dead.”

The man froze.

“What did you say?”

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

The man snatched it with shaking hands.

It had his name on it.

And a drug name he had never seen.

The boy’s voice was quiet.

“My mom worked in your house. She said someone was poisoning you slowly.”

The man looked toward the woman standing behind him.

His wife.

Her face had gone pale.

The boy swallowed hard.

“She tried to warn you. Then she disappeared.”

The man’s voice broke.

“What was your mother’s name?”

The boy’s lips trembled.

“Anna.”

The man stopped breathing.

Anna.

The nurse everyone told him had stolen money and run away.

The only woman who had ever cried when he lost the use of his legs.

The boy looked at him through tears.

“She also said… if I found you, I should tell you I’m your son.”