Maria took a breath and explained that she knew this wasn’t part of her job, but seeing Ethan so withdrawn reminded her of techniques her grandmother had used back in a small town in New Mexico. Her grandmother had cared for people doctors couldn’t help.
Richard snapped, accusing her of pretending she knew more than specialists. Tears filled Maria’s eyes, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t replacing doctors, she said—she only wanted to help Ethan feel better.
Ethan looked up at his father, eyes bright. “Dad, my leg felt tingly,” he said excitedly.
Richard cut him off, sent him to his room, and asked Maria to wheel him upstairs before returning. When she came back, Richard was pacing, frustration etched into his face. He asked if she had children. When she said no, he told her she couldn’t understand what it was like to watch your child give up on life.
Maria listened, then spoke gently. She described growing up watching her grandmother, Grandma Rose, help people others had abandoned. Her grandmother never claimed to replace medicine—she believed the heart sometimes knew things science couldn’t yet explain.