Then he did something he’d never done before.
He knelt so he was eye level with the boy.
“I’m listening now,” he said. “Thank you.”
Caleb blinked fast like he wasn’t used to being thanked by men in suits.
Fernando stood and extended his hand.
Caleb hesitated, then shook it.
His grip was light, but it was real.
On a cold morning in late winter, Elena took her first step.
It wasn’t dramatic.
There was no orchestra.
No perfect lighting.
Just fluorescent hospital brightness and the soft squeak of rubber soles.
Elena stood between parallel bars, her hands shaking, tears already sliding down her cheeks before anything happened.
Fernando stood close, ready to catch her.
Immani stood on the other side, steady and quiet, like an anchor.
Elena’s breath hitched. Her knee trembled.
“I can’t,” she whispered, old fear trying to crawl back into her voice.
Immani leaned in.
“Yes, you can,” Immani said softly. “Not because you have to prove anything. Because you deserve to have your body back.”
Fernando’s voice broke. “I’m here, sweetheart.”
Elena stared at the floor.
Then, like she was stepping out of a cage, she moved her foot forward.
One inch.
Two.
Her weight shifted.
Her muscles screamed.
Her hands tightened.