Ethan held it with both of his small, dirty but warm hands. He closed his eyes and squeezed with quiet faith.
Then something strange happened.
It wasn’t dramatic. No flash of light, no noise.
Just warmth.
The warmth moved through Richard’s arm, across his chest, and down into his legs like electricity awakening something that had been asleep for years.
A tingling spread through his feet.
Richard looked down in disbelief and saw his big toe move slightly.
A tiny movement—but real.
For ten years there had been nothing.
Richard stared at the boy, speechless. Fear and hope mixed together inside him.
“Samuel,” he said finally, his voice sharp. “Bring the boy with us.”
The mansion shocked Ethan. The rooms were enormous, filled with expensive furniture and shining chandeliers.
Victoria appeared immediately, her smile fading when she saw the street child. To her, he wasn’t a child—he was a problem.
Daniel watched him with quiet contempt.
But Richard insisted Ethan stay.
That night the boy was given clean clothes and a soft bed. He slept on the edge, afraid to dirty anything, but it was the first night in months he slept without the cold.
Soon a routine developed.