They drove back together.
Lily sat beside Mateo’s bed.
“Hey, superstar,” she whispered. “Heard the DJ quit.”
She tapped the mattress. Tap, tap, boom.
Mateo turned. Tears filled his eyes. He reached for her.
Adrian knelt beside them. “Son, I was wrong. Forgive me. You’re in charge now.”
Mateo squeezed his father’s fingers.
Three months later, the garden was alive with music. Mateo stood between parallel bars, trembling but determined.
“One!” Lily called.
A step.
“Two!”
Another.
“Three!”
His legs buckled—but he fell laughing into his father’s arms.
“I walked, Dad! I walked!”
“You flew, champ,” Adrian cried.
Lily joined the embrace.
“I’m hungry,” Mateo announced suddenly. “Pizza. We make it. Dad cleans.”
“Deal,” Adrian laughed.
He glanced at his wrist. The Rolex gleamed in the sun. Calmly, he unclasped it and tossed it into the pool.
“What are you doing?” Lily gasped.
“It kept the wrong time,” Adrian said softly, taking Mateo’s hand—and Lily’s. “My time is measured differently now.”
And the three of them walked toward the house, slowly, at Mateo’s rhythm.
Tap, tap, boom.
The rhythm of life.
