That afternoon, as the shadows grew longer, Jonah stood up with deliberate calm and stepped in front of the wheelchair. He knelt, placing his small hands gently upon Samuel’s knees, his touch warm and steady.
“Trust me,” Jonah whispered. “Even if you only believe a little.”
Samuel’s heart thundered as the world seemed to hold its breath.
At first there was nothing, then a faint sensation, like distant sparks beneath his skin, traveling upward with cautious insistence. His breath caught, his fingers tightened against the armrests, and his voice trembled as he spoke.
“I feel something.”
Jonah closed his eyes. “Good.”
The sensation grew, trembling into awareness, into possibility. Samuel pushed forward, muscles shaking, disbelief flooding his senses as his body responded in ways it never had before. With a cry that startled the birds overhead, he stood, unsteady but upright, tears streaming freely as he stared at the ground now supporting him.
“I am standing,” he whispered. “I am standing.”
Jonah opened his eyes, relief softening his features, and urged him forward with a nod.