The man slowly turned toward the woman.

“What did she just say?”

The woman stepped back.

“She’s confused.”

The girl shook her head.

“No.”

Her legs trembled beneath her, but she refused to sit down.

The man reached for her.

“Tell me what happened.”

The girl looked at the wheelchair.

Then at the woman.

“She told me never to stand when you were home.”

The man’s face went blank.

“What?”

“She said you’d send me away if you knew.”

The woman’s voice sharpened.

“That’s enough.”

The girl flinched.

The man immediately moved between them.

“No.”

His voice dropped.

“Let her speak.”

Tears rolled down the girl’s wet cheeks.

“I’ve been practicing when she leaves the room.”

The man stared at her.

“For how long?”

“Months.”

His eyes closed in pain.

All those appointments.

All those nights carrying her upstairs.

All those times he had been told there was no progress.

He looked at the woman.

“Why?”

She couldn’t answer.

The girl reached into the pocket of his jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

Her hand emerged holding a folded piece of paper.

“She made me hide this.”

The man opened it.

His hands started shaking.

It was a letter from the girl’s therapist.

He looked up slowly.

“You told me they said she’d never walk.”

The woman’s lips parted.

The girl took another shaky step and grabbed his hand.

Then she whispered the truth that broke him.

“They said I was getting better.”

Her fingers tightened around his.

“She was the one who didn’t want you to know.”