But Ethan smiled wider—full of hope.
And Andrew couldn’t bring himself to crush that tiny flicker of light.
He didn’t know yet that this mud—completely ordinary mud—would change all their lives.
⭐ The Ritual
Noah pulled a handful of damp mud from an old plastic pouch.
His nails were black, his hands rough, but his dark eyes were bright and sincere.
“Close your eyes,” he said gently.
Ethan obeyed without fear, as if he already trusted the stranger.
Andrew watched, breath trapped in his chest, as the poor boy smoothed the mud onto Ethan’s eyelids with careful, almost reverent motions.
“It might sting a little,” Noah warned.
“It doesn’t,” Ethan whispered. “It feels… nice.”
Andrew’s legs trembled.
How long had it been since Ethan said anything felt nice?
Noah promised to come back tomorrow—every day for a month, just as his grandfather had taught him.
And Ethan asked the question Andrew feared:
“Will you let him come back tomorrow?”
There was fear in the boy’s voice—fear of losing this tiny new hope.
Andrew looked at his own hands—hands that had signed million-dollar contracts, built skyscrapers, won awards…
yet had not been able to ease his son’s pain.
“I’ll let him,” he said at last.