No nurses. No monitors. Just sunlight flooding the lawn that no one ever dared step on. And there—standing—was Mateo. Not collapsed in his wheelchair. Upright, fists raised clumsily toward the sky, laughing from somewhere deep inside him.
In front of him stood Lily, the new housekeeper sent by the agency three days ago.
She wasn’t in the formal uniform. She wore faded scrubs, a stained apron, and bright yellow rubber gloves that shone under the sun. Balanced dramatically on one leg like a ridiculous ballerina, she sprayed a rainbow arc of water over Mateo with a hose.
“Come on, champ! Feel the beat!” she called out. “Don’t be scared of a little water!”
Adrian’s briefcase hit the stone floor with a thud. The spell shattered. Lily wobbled, catching her balance, her smile fading as she saw him.
But Adrian wasn’t relieved. Fury burned in his eyes. He didn’t see joy—he saw recklessness. A cleaning woman exposing his fragile son to sun, cold water, movement no specialist had approved.
“What is going on here?” he thundered.
The light vanished from Mateo’s face. His arms dropped. The broken child returned.
Lily inhaled, peeled off one glove, and faced Adrian.