“You don’t understand! The doctors said he doesn’t have the strength!”
“The doctors don’t know what he wants,” the boy answered. “He saw me outside and wanted to come. Strength isn’t only in muscles. It’s here.” He tapped his chest.
Jonathan fell silent. Ethan’s clothes were filthy, his hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes shone with determination. For the first time in years, he didn’t look like a patient.
He looked like a child.
Fear and instinct battled inside Jonathan. Every medical warning echoed in his mind. But so did something deeper—a father’s voice he had buried under caution.
“Five minutes,” Jonathan whispered hoarsely. “That’s all.”
The boy smiled. “Come on, Ethan. You can do it. Get the ball.”
He held up a ragged, handmade ball stitched from scraps of cloth.
Ethan’s knees trembled as he pushed against the mud. Jonathan stood rigid, ready to catch him.
“Just a little more,” the boy encouraged.
Ethan lifted his torso—then fell.
Jonathan stepped forward, but the boy raised a hand.
“It’s okay. Let him try again.”
“He could get hurt!”
“He’s already hurting,” the boy replied softly. “He just wants to play.”
The words pierced deeper than Jonathan expected.