Evan chuckled. “Am I?”
Simon pointed at him like a tiny judge. “No more sad face,” he declared. “We’re building.”
Evan leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “Okay,” he said. “Show me how.”
And as his sons talked over each other, as Rachel’s quiet laughter joined theirs, Evan understood something simple and profound:
Sometimes the miracle isn’t that broken bodies learn to move again.
Sometimes the miracle is that broken hearts remember how to believe—and how to stay.
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