The rooftop went silent.

The man stared down at his leg, his face no longer arrogant, only terrified.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

The boy kept one hand on the metal footrest.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “I only made you feel what was already there.”

A woman at the table covered her mouth.

The man tried to move his foot.

It twitched.

Just once.

But it was enough to make every guest lean forward.

His eyes filled with tears.

“I haven’t felt that in eight years.”

The boy looked at him with a sadness too old for his face.

“My mother said you were never broken.”

The man froze.

“Who is your mother?”

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

The man took it with trembling hands.

His name was on it.

So was a medication he had never been told about.

The boy’s voice lowered.

“She worked in your house. She said someone was keeping you weak.”

The man slowly turned toward the woman sitting beside his wheelchair.

His wife’s face had gone pale.

The boy continued, his own eyes shining now.

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

The man’s voice broke.

“What was her name?”

The boy swallowed.

“Anna.”

The wine glass slipped from the man’s hand and shattered on the rooftop floor.

Because Anna was the nurse he was told had stolen from him.

Anna was the woman he once loved.

And the boy standing beside his wheelchair had his eyes.