Victor turned sharply. His face hardened. “Who let this child near my daughter?” he snapped. Maria rushed forward, terrified. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll take him away.” But Isabella spoke first. “Daddy…” she whispered. “Let him stay. His voice sounds kind.”
Victor clenched his jaw. He looked at the boy’s dirty hands, torn clothes, bare feet. Mud. After everything he had paid for, everything he had lost — this felt like mockery.
“Do you know how many doctors I’ve hired?” Victor said coldly. “Do you know how much I’ve spent trying to save her?”
Noah nodded. “My mom told me,” he said simply. “She said rich people trust money more than hope.”
Victor froze. “Enough,” he said sharply. “This isn’t a fairy tale.” But Isabella reached out blindly and whispered, “Please.”
Victor hesitated. He had nothing left to lose. “Five minutes,” he said. “Then you leave.”
Noah knelt down. He mixed clean water with soil from the garden — slowly, carefully. “This isn’t magic,” he said quietly. “My grandma used to do this.”
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