Andrew tried to answer, but the lump in his throat stopped him.
He took a breath and whispered, “Yes, buddy. Of course.”
That night, he didn’t sleep.
His wife, Catherine, was away—“in Geneva, at a conference.”
Andrew stayed in his study, laptop open, rereading Ethan’s medical reports: “Improved balance. Better coordination. Reduced fear of falling.”
Doctors’ signatures filled the pages—but the real change hadn’t come from them.
It had come from her.
The next morning, he waited for Lucy in the kitchen.
She walked in with her hair tied back, dressed simply, her hands rough and cracked from work.
“Mr. Collins… if you want me to leave, I will. I just ask you… please don’t be upset with Ethan.”
“Sit down,” he said quietly.
She did, uneasy.
“I want to know why you did this. Not as an employee. As a person.”
The silence stretched.
“Because I saw myself in him,” she finally said.
Andrew looked up, startled.
“When I was a kid, I had an accident. I couldn’t walk for months. My mom took care of me until she got sick herself. After she died, the doctors said I’d never walk again. But an elderly neighbor—a retired nurse—came every day. For free. Just to tell me I could. And one day, I did.”