A small, uncertain voice interrupted him, gentle yet insistent.

“Uncle Dominic, why are you crying?”

Startled, Dominic spun in his wheelchair to see a small boy standing a few feet away, peeking from behind the hedge. He could not have been older than six, wearing a tattered soccer jersey that swallowed him and scuffed sneakers caked with dirt.

“Who are you?” Dominic barked, the venom of years of bitterness spilling into his words. “You’re not allowed here! Go back!”

The boy stepped closer without hesitation, curiosity radiating from his bright eyes. Fear was a foreign concept to him.

“I’m Leo. I heard you screaming,” the boy said. “Does it hurt when you try to move your legs?”

Dominic let out a humorless laugh, bitter as ashes. “Hurt? No. Pain is a luxury. I don’t feel anything. I am broken. Nothing will ever fix me.”