Robert Thompson watched anxiously as doctors came and went from his only daughter Emma’s hospital room. The two-year-old suffered from a rare neurological condition that confined her to a wheelchair, and in recent weeks she had refused to eat, keeping everyone in their luxurious mansion on constant alert.
It was then that he remembered that scene in Central Park, New York, which now felt so distant. The millionaire had been hiding behind a tree watching his daughter, who had gone to the park with her nanny. Robert saw when a dark-skinned, skinny boy wearing nothing but tattered jean shorts approached Emma with a piece of bread in his hand.
The nanny, Megan, was distracted on her phone, and before Robert could shout, the boy was already feeding small pieces of bread to his daughter. Who do you think you are touching my daughter? Robert yelled, rushing toward the children. You could be dirty, full of diseases.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than four years old, widened his frightened eyes as Robert roughly pushed him away from Emma’s wheelchair. The nanny, now alert, looked confused and ashamed for being caught neglecting her duty. Forgive me, Mr. Thompson, I only looked away for a second, Megan pleaded, while Robert checked on Emma.
You’re fired, he declared, without glancing at the nanny. Get your things from the mansion today, Megan began to cry, but Robert ignored her. His attention was fixed on the boy, who still held the bread in his hand.
An elderly woman, thin and with skin wrinkled by the sun, hurried toward them. I’m sorry, sir, the woman said breathlessly. Tommy meant no harm.
He just wanted to share the bread we got today. Robert looked at the woman and the boy with disdain. Keep that kid away from my daughter, he warned, lifting Emma into her wheelchair.
Let’s get out of this place. As the chauffeur drove Robert and Emma away, the millionaire gazed through the tinted window of the imported car. He saw the boy named Tommy holding the woman’s hand, likely his grandmother, both watching the car leave.
What puzzled him, however, was noticing that Emma was also looking back, as if searching for the boy who had fed her. It was the first time in weeks his daughter had shown interest in anything or anyone. In the days that followed, Emma’s condition worsened significantly.
Robert hired the best specialists in the country, but none could get the girl to eat properly. She turned her face away from anyone who tried to feed her, including her own father. Mr. Thompson, we need to talk, said Dr. Jennifer Wilson, the e-neurologist who had been treating Emma since her diagnosis.
Your daughter’s condition is deteriorating due to her refusal to eat. If this continues, we’ll have to consider a feeding tube. Robert ran his hands through his graying hair in frustration.
Do whatever’s necessary, doctor. Money isn’t an issue, he replied, as he always did when it came to Emma’s health. Dr. Wilson, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, hesitated.
Mr. Thompson, this isn’t just a medical issue. Your daughter seems… sad. Children, even with neurological limitations like Emma’s, respond to affection, to human connection.
Robert narrowed his eyes defensively. Are you implying I don’t give my daughter enough affection? he asked irritably. Not at all, the doctor replied calmly.
