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?”
“No.”
He shook his head seriously.
“That’s your heart advice.”
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
For the first time in months.
A real laugh.
Over the next few weeks, Sammy became part of my daily routine.
He didn’t treat me like a broken person.
He treated me like Ethan.
He asked about my favorite foods.
He asked why I built my company.
He asked about my childhood.
Questions nobody had asked me in years.
And slowly…
Something changed.
I started eating meals at the table instead of alone in my office.
I started speaking kindly to employees again.
I started opening the curtains in my bedroom.
Small things.
Things money had never been able to buy.
But one question kept bothering me.
How did Sammy know so much?
