For years, that house had felt like a museum of pain. Heavy silences. Endless treatments. Doctors’ visits. Hopes built up and crushed again and again.
And now—laughter.
Real laughter. Warm. Honest. Alive.
“Lucy,” he said quietly, and the young woman turned around at once. “Please explain to me what kind of exercises these are.”
She lowered her gaze, clearly nervous.
“Mr. Collins… I noticed it was really hard for Ethan to stay in the wheelchair all the time. So we started small—just a few seconds standing, then a little longer. I studied physical therapy, but I never finished college… I had to start working. I didn’t want to do anything wrong.”
“Go on,” he said, calm, though tension crept into his voice.
“At first he was scared. He shook, he cried. But after a while, he started asking to try again on his own. I just tried to give him confidence. The body listens when the heart believes. And Ethan started believing. Not in me—in himself.”
Andrew covered his face with his hands.
Had he still believed? Or had he given up a long time ago?
“Dad,” Ethan said softly, moving toward him on his crutches, “can Aunt Lucy stay with us forever?”