“Tell me what you feel,” Rachel urged. “Not what you expect. What you feel.”
Long seconds passed.
“I… feel something,” Eleanor whispered. “Like pins… faint electricity.”
Daniel’s breath caught. “Mom?”
“I thought it was nothing,” Eleanor admitted. “I was afraid to hope.”
Rachel turned off the hose and took Daniel’s hand, placing it firmly above Eleanor’s knee.
“Press hard.”
“I’ll hurt her.”
“You’ve avoided pain for twelve years,” Rachel said. “Press.”
He did.
Eleanor gasped. “I felt it!”
Daniel collapsed to his knees, sobbing openly.
“I wanted to protect you,” he whispered.
“You protected me into silence,” Eleanor said gently. “I chose safety. I shouldn’t have.”
Rachel extended her hands. “On three. Not because you’re sure. Because you’re willing.”
“What if I can’t?” Eleanor asked.
“Then we try again tomorrow,” Rachel said. “And the next day.”
“One,” Rachel counted.
“Two.”
“Three.”
Eleanor pushed. Her arms shook. Her face strained.
Her body lifted—barely—but unmistakably off the chair.
Three centimeters.
Against twelve years.
She fell back crying, laughing, breathless. “I did it.”
“Again,” Rachel said immediately.
Eight seconds.Fifteen.
Thirty—this time Rachel only holding her hands.