Every night his mind returned to the same place, wondering if they had taken a different route or if they had arrived earlier. The word “if” echoed until morning came while he remained wide awake.
One bright spring morning, sunlight slipped through the large kitchen windows but felt unfamiliar. Maxwell followed his routine of a pressed charcoal suit and strong coffee while wearing a calm face that didn’t match his internal state.
His daughter, Penelope, sat near the kitchen counter in her wheelchair wearing her favorite pale yellow dress. She once said it made her feel like a little piece of sunshine, and her quiet expression was far too understanding for someone so young.
“Are you ready to meet another specialist today, sweetheart?” Maxwell asked gently. Penelope looked up at him with a small, accepting smile and said, “If you think it will help, Dad.”
That calmness broke him more than tears ever could as they moved toward the driveway where the car waited. That was when Maxwell noticed a boy standing by the front gate who couldn’t have been older than ten.