Chapter 5 - “Your Legs Are Just Sleeping”
Recovery was slow.
Painfully slow.
Vincent expected that removing the poison would somehow restore him overnight.
It didn't.
Weeks passed.
His hands became steadier.
His headaches faded.
His breathing improved.
But his legs remained weak.
One afternoon, his physical therapist stood in the greenhouse.
“Again.”
Vincent gripped the parallel bars.
“I already did it.”
“You stood for fourteen seconds.”
“That's thirteen seconds longer than I wanted to.”
“Again.”
Vincent glared at him.
From behind an orchid, Mateo whispered to Rosa.
“Is he always grumpy?”
Vincent heard him.
“Yes.”
Mateo stepped out.
“I wasn't asking you.”
Rosa covered her face.
“Mateo.”
Vincent almost laughed.
The therapist gestured toward the bars.
“Mr. Blackwood?”
Vincent pulled himself upright.
His legs trembled violently.
Mateo watched.
“Come on.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You can do it.”
“You're six.”
“Almost seven.”
“My apologies, Doctor.”
Mateo grinned.
Vincent managed nineteen seconds.
Then twenty-four.
Then thirty.
Over the following months, the wheelchair gave way to a walker.
Then two canes.
Eventually one.
Some nerve damage remained.
Doctors told Vincent he might never regain full strength in his left leg.
He accepted that.
Being alive had changed his definition of winning.
One morning, he found Rosa waiting outside his office.
“What is it?”
She held an envelope.
“My resignation.”
Vincent frowned.
“No.”
Rosa blinked.
“Sir?”
“No.”
“You haven't read it.”
“I don't need to.”
“I found another position.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“Because Mateo has caused enough trouble here.”
Vincent stared at her.
“Your son saved my life.”
“He disobeyed me.”
“Good.”
Rosa looked stunned.
Vincent leaned back.
“I had twelve thousand employees, private doctors, security teams, and executives walking through this estate.”
He pointed toward the greenhouse.
“Your six-year-old noticed what none of them did.”
Rosa looked down.
“I don't want charity.”
“Neither do I.”
Vincent pushed an envelope toward her.
“What is this?”
“Keys.”
“To what?”
“The gardener’s cottage.”
Rosa stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can't accept a house.”
“You aren't.”
“Then what am I doing?”
“Preventing me from having to listen to Mateo complain about your apartment.”
A small voice came from the hallway.
“It is pretty small.”
Rosa spun around.
“Mateo!”
The boy appeared.
Vincent smiled.
“See?”
Rosa shook her head.
“You two are impossible.”
Vincent handed her another document.
“And this.”
She opened it.
Her eyes widened.
“An education fund?”
“For Mateo.”
“Mr. Blackwood…”
“Enough for any university he chooses.”
“I can't—”
“Rosa.”
She looked at him.
Vincent’s expression softened.
“Money nearly destroyed everything I built.”
He glanced toward Mateo.
“It can also build something useful.”
Rosa's eyes filled with tears.
Mateo tugged Vincent’s sleeve.
“Can I ask something?”
“Apparently nobody can stop you.”
“Are you going to walk again?”
Vincent looked toward his cane.
“I don't know.”
Mateo considered that.
Then shrugged.
“I think you will.”
“Why?”
“Because you weren't really sick.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“I was poisoned.”
“Yeah.”
Mateo pointed toward Vincent’s legs.
“So they're just sleeping.”
Vincent laughed.
“That's not how nerves work.”
Mateo crossed his arms.
“You said I wasn't a doctor.”
“You aren't.”
“Then how do you know I'm wrong?”
Vincent looked at Rosa.
She shrugged.
“Don't involve me.”
For the first time in months, the greenhouse filled with laughter.
And Vincent realized something.
Marcus had tried to take his company.
Vanessa had betrayed him.
Poison had taken his strength.
But none of them had taken everything.
May you like
He was still here.
Now he needed to learn how to stand again.
