“Yeah, I know it. The big houses with the iron gates. I’ve walked past them.” Andrew felt that chill again. How much did this kid know about them? He decided not to ask.
He was already second-guessing himself, but then he saw Annie’s face. For the first time in two years, there was hope. “Monday, then,” Andrew confirmed. “Don’t be late. And try to clean up a bit.”
Kyle nodded and, without another word, took off across the park, his bare feet slapping against the asphalt. “Do you believe him, Dad?” Annie asked as Andrew started pushing her toward their SUV. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, honey,” he admitted.
“But if there’s even a one-percent chance this helps you walk again, I’m taking it.” Annie was quiet the whole way home. Andrew saw her reflection in the window, and for the first time in a long time, she was almost smiling.
That night, Andrew couldn’t sleep. He sat in his living room with a cup of coffee, wondering if he’d lost his mind. How would he explain this to Martha, their housekeeper? What would the doctors say? And most importantly, what if this failed and Annie ended up even more crushed?
He picked up his phone and called Dr. Sarah Miller, Annie’s psychologist. “Andrew, it’s 2:00 AM,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I need to tell you what happened today.”
He told her about the park, about Kyle, and the strange offer. He expected her to tell him it was dangerous and irresponsible, but her reaction surprised him. “You know, Andrew, this might be exactly what Annie needs.”
“What? You think a street kid can do what you and a dozen other professionals couldn’t?” “It’s not about what he can do; it’s about what she’s willing to try. Annie hasn’t shown interest in anything for months.”
“If this boy sparked something in her, that’s progress.” “And if it fails?” “And what if it works?” Sarah countered. “Look, I’m not saying build up unrealistic expectations. But you said Annie asked for this.”
“That’s a huge step, Andrew. She’s making a choice, expressing a desire. That’s what I’ve been trying to get her to do for a year.” Andrew hung up feeling slightly better, but still nervous. He went upstairs and peeked into Annie’s room.
She was asleep, and for the first time in ages, she looked peaceful. Sunday was a whirlwind. Martha, who had been with the family for fifteen years, nearly dropped a plate when Andrew explained that a homeless boy was coming over.
“Mr. Walker, with all due respect, have you lost your mind?” she asked, hands on her hips. “I know how it sounds, Martha, but Annie wants this. The girl doesn’t know what she wants. She’s eleven and she’s been through a trauma.”
“You’re the adult here.” “I know. That’s why I’ll be there the whole time. And you will be too, if you want.” Martha huffed, but Andrew knew her. She loved Annie like her own. Since Annie’s mother, Alice, had passed away, Martha had become the backbone of the house.
“Fine. But at the first sign of trouble, I’m calling the police,” she warned. On Monday, Andrew cleared his schedule. He was a partner at a successful consulting firm he’d built from the ground up, which provided a very comfortable life.
But since the accident, he’d stepped back, spending less time at the office and more time trying to find a way to help Annie. Three o’clock came and went. Three-fifteen, three-thirty.
Andrew was starting to think Kyle wouldn’t show, that the whole thing had been a mistake, when the gate buzzer rang. Martha went to answer it and came back looking even more disapproving. “The boy is here. But Mr. Walker, he’s still… well, he’s a mess.”
Andrew went to the door. Kyle was standing there, but it was clear he’d tried. His hair was wet, like he’d dunked his head in a park fountain to wash up. His shirt was still stained, but it looked cleaner than it had on Saturday.
He was still barefoot. “Hey,” Kyle said simply. “Come on in.” Andrew stepped aside. Kyle walked into the house with hesitant steps, his eyes taking everything in. It was obvious he’d never been in a place like this.
The Walker home was spacious, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and expensive furniture—a world away from the streets. “Annie’s in the sunroom,” Andrew led the way. They found her by the window, looking out at the garden.
She was wearing a light pink top and jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “Hi, Kyle,” she said when she saw him. “Hi, Annie,” he replied. Andrew noticed that Kyle’s hesitation vanished the moment he saw her.
Here, in front of her, Kyle seemed sure of himself. “So,” Kyle began, walking closer, “you used to dance.” Annie hesitated, her fingers nervously tugging at her sleeve. “I did ballet since I was five.” “And were you good?”
“My mom thought so.” The silence that followed was heavy. Andrew felt that familiar ache in his chest. Alice had loved watching Annie dance. she never missed a recital, always in the front row with her camera.
They had been driving home from a performance when the accident happened. “Did *you* think you were good?” Kyle asked. “I liked it.” “That’s more important than being good.” “A lot more important,” Kyle agreed.
He sat down on the floor in front of Annie’s chair, crossing his legs. Martha, watching from the doorway, looked like she wanted to complain about him sitting on the rug, but Andrew waved her off. “Can I tell you something?” Kyle asked.
“Sure.” “My sister Daisy was seven when she stopped walking. The doctors said she was fine, just like you, but she just couldn’t move her legs.” “Why did she stop?” Annie asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Because of our mom. She left. One day she was there, the next she was gone. No note, no nothing, just gone.” “Where did she go?” “We don’t know. My dad looked, but he never found her.”
“And Daisy, she was little, she didn’t understand. She waited every day for Mom to come back, and when she realized she wasn’t coming, she just stopped walking.” Andrew felt a lump in his throat. The story was different, but the trauma was the same.
Alice hadn’t chosen to leave. She’d been in the car with Annie, driving home from that ballet recital. A truck had hydroplaned in the rain. Alice didn’t make it. Annie had escaped without major physical injuries, but something inside her had broken that day.
“How did you help her?” Annie asked, her voice a whisper. “I realized she didn’t want to walk because walking meant moving on, and she didn’t want to move on without Mom. So I started teaching her to dance—but dancing while sitting down, so she didn’t need her legs.”
“And it worked. Not right away. She didn’t even want to try. But I kept at it. Every day I’d put on music and dance in front of her, just using my arms, my hands, my head. And slowly, she started following me. And then, she walked again.”
Kyle paused for a second, looking off into the distance. “She walked. But it wasn’t fast. And it wasn’t because I did a miracle; it was because she found a way to move that didn’t hurt so much. When movement came back to her arms and shoulders, her legs followed, because the whole body is connected.”
“You can’t separate one pain from the rest.” Andrew leaned against the wall, watching. There was something about this boy—simultaneously young and absurdly mature, as if the streets had taught him things no school ever could. “Want to try?” Kyle asked Annie.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “What if it doesn’t work?” “What if it does?”
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