Chapter 8 - THE DAY SOPHIE SAW ME STAND
Three months after rehab began, Sophie visited.
Her aunt brought her.
Shoes this time.
Bright yellow sneakers.
She ran toward Elena first.
Good.
Then saw me.
I was sitting in my chair.
Sophie frowned.
“You still don't walk.”
Children remain excellent at demolishing adult ceremony.
“Not much.”
“But you try?”
“Every day.”
She nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
Then we showed her the therapy room.
Not because I wanted applause.
Because she asked.
The therapists put me in braces.
Harness.
Parallel bars.
I pushed.
My arms shook.
Legs trembled.
Slowly—
I stood.
Sophie gasped.
Not because it was beautiful.
It wasn't.
My knees were locked into braces.
Harness carried part of my weight.
Sweat ran down my neck.
But I was vertical.
For eleven seconds.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
Sophie began clapping.
I laughed.
“Don't.”
“You're tall!”
That nearly finished me.
Five years in a chair makes you forget what the world looks like from six feet two.
I sat again.
Exhausted.
Sophie came closer.
“Did God fix you?”
The entire room went quiet.
I thought carefully.
“No.”
She frowned.
“Doctors are helping my body.”
“Oh.”
“And therapists.”
She nodded.
“And machines.”
Another nod.
Then I touched the drawing she'd sent.
“But you helped with something else.”
“What?”
“You reminded me I wanted to try.”
She smiled.
That answer satisfied her.
Good.
A five-year-old did not need responsibility for a grown man's body.
Before she left, Sophie handed me something.
Not evidence.
A sticker.
A gold star.
“For trying.”
I wore it on my jacket to a board meeting that afternoon.
May you like
Vincent hated it.
That alone made it valuable.
