But nobody asked the question Sammy asked.
“Are you okay?”
Not once.
I looked at him carefully.
“How did you know that?”
Sammy shrugged.
“My mom cries when she thinks nobody sees her too.”
I turned toward Rebecca.
Her face immediately changed.
“Sammy…”
He continued.
“She sits in the kitchen sometimes after work and says she wishes she could fix things.”
My chest tightened.
Rebecca looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell. He shouldn’t have—”
“No.”
I raised my hand.
“Let him finish.”
Sammy looked back at me.
“She says people with money still get hurt.”
“And people without money get hurt too.”
He paused.
“But everyone thinks money fixes everything.”
The garden became completely silent.
Because a six-year-old child had just explained my entire life better than every therapist I had hired.
That afternoon, I asked Rebecca to stay.
Not as my employee.
As someone who knew the truth.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me your son was this observant?”
She smiled sadly.
“Because most people don’t listen to children.”
I looked toward Sammy, who was sitting on the grass drawing with a piece of chalk.
“I’m listening now.”
The next morning, something unexpected happened.
Sammy came back.
Not with doctors.
Not with a miracle cure.
Just a small backpack and a notebook.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He opened it proudly.
“My plan.”
I almost smiled.
“Your plan?”
He nodded.
“First, you need to stop being angry all the time.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s your medical advice?”
