Ethan covered his mouth, tears streaming freely now.
“Yes,” he said, his voice breaking. “You are.”
Emma nodded, encouraging.
“Let’s try a step.”
Lily hesitated.
Then, slowly, she lifted her right foot.
It barely moved.
But it moved.
Then her left.
One step.
Two.
Three.
On the third, her balance gave out, and she fell forward—but Emma caught her, wrapping her arms around her as Lily burst into laughter and tears all at once.
Ethan wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them tightly, like if he let go, this moment might disappear.
“How did you know?” he asked hoarsely.
Emma hesitated.
Then she said quietly, “Because I’ve been there.”
Ethan pulled back slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I was in a wheelchair,” she said. “For almost two years. Doctors told me the same thing they told you. That I’d never walk again.”
Ethan stared at her, stunned.
“But one therapist,” she continued, “refused to believe that. She pushed me. Challenged me. Made me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore.”
A small smile touched her lips.
“She didn’t give up on me.”
Ethan looked at his daughter—his daughter, who was still holding onto Emma, still standing, still trying.
And he realized…
He had.