Lucas stepped closer anyway. “My mom says people cry when their heart hurts. Did you get hurt?”
The innocence stripped away Ethan’s defenses. “Something like that,” he sighed. “My legs don’t work. I’m never going to walk again.”
Lucas tilted his head thoughtfully. There was no pity—only quiet resolve. He approached and placed his small hand on Ethan’s lifeless knee.
“Can I pray for you?”
Ethan nearly laughed. He believed in numbers and medicine, not miracles. But he couldn’t deny the sincerity in the child’s face. He nodded, closing his eyes out of exhaustion more than faith.
Lucas whispered simple words, like he was speaking to a friend no one else could see. He asked that “Mr. Ethan’s legs wake up” and that he wouldn’t be sad anymore.
Then Ethan felt it.
Not thunder. Not light. Just warmth—spreading slowly from his ankles upward. His eyes flew open. “Move,” he whispered to his foot.
His big toe twitched.
It was tiny, barely visible—but he felt it. Electricity pulsed through nerves doctors had declared permanently silent.
“It moved!” he gasped. “I felt it!”
Maria rushed into the garden, apologizing in panic. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Calloway—Lucas, come here!”