The young Black girl standing before him looked no older than eleven. Her pale blue cotton dress was worn thin, and though her hands were smudged with dirt, her hair was neatly tied back.
Across the table sat Lucas, Daniel’s ten-year-old son, silent in his wheelchair. His legs rested motionless beneath his jeans, too thin for a boy his age.
Daniel let out a short, humorless laugh. “You think you can heal my son? You’re just a kid.”
The girl didn’t waver. “I don’t want money. Just food. One meal, and I’ll help him the way my grandmother helped people where I come from.”
For three years, Daniel had watched Lucas’s world shrink after the car crash that killed his wife, Emma. Lucas survived, but his spine was badly damaged. Doctors had been clear—he would never walk again.
“Please, Dad,” Lucas murmured. “Let her try.”
Against every instinct, Daniel nodded to the waiter. The girl introduced herself as Maya Brooks, and when the food arrived, she ate quickly, like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days.
When she finished, she spoke softly. “Can we go somewhere private? I’ll show you.”