“I’ve done this before.”

Her father froze.

“What?”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“With him.”

The man looked at the muddy boy.

His anger disappeared.

The girl stepped carefully out of the tub.

Her knees shook violently.

But she stayed standing.

Her father reached for her.

She pulled away.

“Wait.”

That hurt him more than he expected.

The boy held out his hand, but didn’t touch her.

“You don’t need me.”

She nodded through tears.

Then took one step.

And another.

Her father covered his mouth.

“How long?”

The girl stopped.

“Three weeks.”

His eyes widened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked down.

“Because every time I tried standing, you got scared.”

His face crumpled.

“I was protecting you.”

“I know.”

She swallowed hard.

“But he was the first person who didn’t look at me like I was going to break.”

The man looked at the boy’s filthy clothes, then at his daughter standing without her crutches.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who are you?”

The boy lowered his eyes.

Before he could answer, the girl reached for his hand.

“He’s the gardener’s son.”

She squeezed his fingers.

“And every night after you went inside… he taught me not to be afraid of falling.”