Hannah froze but didn’t panic. She slowly stood, keeping her hands visible.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Michael said. His voice was calm, but cold. “You’re going against medical instructions.”
“I know,” Hannah replied.
“Then explain.”
She glanced at the children. “Not in front of them.”
They spoke in the hallway.
Hannah told him about her younger brother, paralyzed at eight after a spinal infection. About years without money for specialists. About an elderly neighbor—a retired physical therapist—who taught her techniques quietly, without paperwork. About watching professionals give up too soon.
“The braces matter,” she said. “But not every night. Their muscles are ready. They’re frustrated. They want to move. And they’re stronger than you think.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “You went behind my back.”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Because you would have said no.”
He fired her that night.
Security walked Hannah out the next morning. The children cried. Lily refused breakfast. Owen wouldn’t look at Michael.
Two days later, Dr. Wright called.
“I reviewed the scans again,” he said. “There’s improvement. Small—but real. More than we’ve seen in months.”
Something twisted painfully in Michael’s chest.