She immediately tried to call him back, but the boy kept coming. He stopped beside my wheelchair and studied my face.
Then he placed one small hand gently on my knee. He asked why I was crying.
For several seconds, I couldn’t answer. Board members had watched me destroy million-dollar negotiations without blinking.
Powerful businessmen measured every word around me, yet this little boy stood there without fear, waiting for the truth.
So I gave it to him. I told Sammy I couldn’t walk anymore. I explained that the doctors believed I might never stand again.
Even saying those words aloud made something inside me collapse. Sammy didn’t look frightened or uncomfortable.
He simply tilted his head and thought. Then he asked whether he could pray for me.
I stared at him. Nobody had offered me anything that simple in months.
Everyone else brought specialists, experimental programs, medical reports, or carefully rehearsed sympathy.
Sammy offered hope. He told me his mother said God listened when people asked for help.
Then he asked permission to ask for me. Behind him, Rebecca stood completely still with her broom in her hands.
I looked from her to her son and felt tears returning. Something desperate rose inside me.
