Now he sat in a quiet park while golden autumn sunlight filtered through the trees. For the first time since hearing the diagnosis, he wondered what dignity really meant.
Seventy-eight years of life.
A real estate fortune worth nearly two hundred million dollars.
And not one person who would truly mourn him.
The little girl peeked around his wheelchair again.
“He left,” she said with relief. “You bought my bread.”
Daniel studied her.
“What’s your name, little thief?”
“Emma,” she replied proudly, sitting cross-legged on the ground beside him. Then she tilted her head. “Why do you look so sad? Your wheelchair has wheels. That looks kind of fun.”
For the first time in many years, Daniel laughed.
A few minutes later Emma asked him a question that stunned him even more than his diagnosis.
“Are you going to die soon?”
Daniel stared at her.
“And if you are,” she continued innocently, “do you love anyone?”
Before he could answer, a woman hurried toward them. She looked about thirty-eight, her clothes simple but clean. Her dark hair was tied back tightly, and both exhaustion and determination were visible in her posture.