The businessman is still holding the photo. His face is pale, tense, completely changed.
He looks at the waitress, voice low but shaking:
“Start talking… now.”
The waitress struggles to breathe. Her eyes are wet. She hesitates.
Then finally:
“That child… is yours.”
A sharp silence hits the entire room.
The camera slowly pushes in on his face.
Shock. Denial. Rage. Confusion—all collapsing at once.
He steps back like he’s been physically struck.
“No…” he whispers. “I was there. I saw him die.”
Suddenly, quick flash cuts: a hospital corridor, medical documents, a signature being hidden, a baby crying.
The truth feels fragmented, buried.
The waitress shakes her head, crying now:
“You were lied to.”
The businessman grips the photo tighter.
His voice drops to almost nothing:
“Then who took him from me…?”
The waitress looks up slowly.
And says:
“Someone who wanted your entire life rewritten.”
CUT TO BLACK.
