“It’s not a trick,” the boy interrupted calmly. “My grandmother taught me how to massage feet with herbs that help people walk again.”
Michael stopped laughing when he saw the boy’s expression. There was no greed in his eyes—only quiet certainty.
Emma, who had been listening silently, leaned forward.
“Daddy, who is he?”
“Hi, princess,” the boy smiled. “My name’s Jordan. Jordan Miller. You’re Emma, right?”
Michael frowned. “How do you know her name?”
“Everyone around here knows,” Jordan replied. “The store lady said the businessman’s daughter got sick and can’t walk.”
Emma looked hopeful.
“Daddy… can he help me?”
“You lose nothing by letting me try,” Jordan said. “All I need is warm water and some herbs. If it doesn’t work, you can send me away. But if it does…”
He paused.
“Then the princess will run again.”
Michael felt something painful rise in his chest—a fragile hope he had buried long ago.
“Where did you learn this?” he asked.
“My grandmother,” Jordan said. “Her name was Grace. She was a healer. She taught me everything.”
“And where is she now?”
The boy looked down.
“She passed away three months ago. Before she died, she made me promise I’d keep helping people.”