She clutched a white cane in her small hands.
Even in that sweltering heat, she wore a thick sweater, as if trying to protect herself from a world she could no longer see.
Marcus glanced at his watch out of habit, but time meant nothing anymore. For six months, his daughter’s eyesight had been fading, dying irretrievably no matter how many specialists he flew in.
London. Dubai. New York.
Always the same answer.
A rare degenerative disease.
But deep down, Marcus didn’t believe it.
Because it didn’t seem natural.
He felt… bad.
“Dad,” Lila whispered softly, “is it night already?”
Marcus’s chest tightened.
It was only mid-afternoon.
“No, darling,” she said, forcing a calm tone in her voice. “It’s just some clouds passing by.”
That’s when he noticed the child.
I wasn’t begging. I wasn’t selling anything.
I was just standing there… watching.
He looked about ten years old, dressed in worn clothes, but his eyes… his eyes were steady, sharp, almost unsettling.
Marcus sighed, already irritated. “Not today, kid. Go your own way.”
The child did not move.
Instead, he took a step closer and spoke in a low voice:
“Your daughter is not sick, sir.”
Marcus froze.
“And she’s not going blind,” the boy continued. “Someone is taking her sight away.”
A shiver ran down Marcus’s spine.
“What are you talking about?”
The boy did not hesitate.
“She’s his wife.”
Silence swallowed everything.
Marcus’s heart was beating violently.
“She puts something in the girl’s food. Every day.”
Anger ignited instantly, but it could not drown out the sudden avalanche of memories.
The moment it happened.
Symptoms after meals.
His wife, Elena, insisting on personally preparing Lila’s food.
“This way is safer,” he always said.
Marcus stared at the boy, searching for some kind of deception.
He didn’t find any.
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