Chapter 9 - THE FIRST COLOR
Three months after exposure stopped, Lila saw yellow.
Not perfectly.
Not clearly.
But she saw it.
We were in Dr. Patel’s office.
A vision therapist held up several high-contrast cards.
Lila leaned forward.
Then pointed.
“That one is bright.”
Dr. Patel froze.
“What kind of bright?”
Lila squinted.
“Like sunshine.”
The therapist looked at me.
Yellow.
My throat closed.
“Sweetheart.”
Lila smiled.
“Daddy, are you crying?”
“No.”
Dr. Patel handed me a tissue.
“Liar.”
I laughed.
Lila’s recovery was slow.
Uneven.
Some optic-nerve damage remained.
She regained useful central vision.
Colors.
Large print with assistance.
Faces at closer distances.
She still used adaptive technology.
Still sometimes used her cane in unfamiliar places.
Nobody promised full recovery.
We learned to celebrate function instead of perfection.
Six months later, Eli visited our house for the first time.
Not the old Moretti estate.
I had moved.
That mansion contained too many rooms where everybody had been afraid to ask questions.
Our new house was smaller.
Still more luxurious than most people’s homes.
I was not pretending poverty made me moral.
But it had windows everywhere.
An open kitchen.
No private wing staff avoided.
Lila stood near the entrance.
Eli walked in.
She narrowed her eyes.
“I can see your shirt.”
He looked down.
“What color?”
She grinned.
“Ugly.”
It was bright orange.
Eli laughed so hard he dropped his backpack.
Naomi covered her mouth.
I looked away because apparently I cried often now.
A terrible development for my reputation.
Eli and Naomi had moved into a permanent apartment through the housing program.
Naomi worked part-time in a medical office while finishing certification courses.
I offered tuition once.
She refused.
So my foundation expanded scholarships available to every parent in the program instead.
She applied like everyone else.
She got one.
That felt cleaner.
Lila and Eli became friends.
Not siblings.
Not charity-project children.
Friends.
They argued.
Played games.
Insulted each other’s shoes.
May you like
Normality is underrated until your child nearly loses it forever.
---
