“My dad died three years ago. And my mom… I don’t know where she is.” Beverly was quiet for a moment, processing that. Her expression softened slightly, but not much.
“Still,” she finally said, “it’s inappropriate. A stranger from the street spending this much time with my granddaughter. People will talk.” “Let them talk,” Andrew said, joining them. “I care about my daughter, not what the neighbors think.”
Beverly looked at her son with a mix of disappointment and worry. She had always been the one in control, always thinking she knew best, and in many situations she did—but not this one. “I’m going to call Dr. Harrison,” she threatened, referring to the family physician.
“I want his opinion on this whole crazy idea.” “Call him. It won’t change anything. Annie wants to keep going, and I’m supporting her.” Beverly left that evening without saying goodbye, which was her way of declaring war. Andrew knew he was in for it, but he didn’t care.
For the first time in a long time, he saw real progress in his daughter. He wasn’t going to give up because of his mother’s stubbornness. But Beverly didn’t give up easily. Over the next few days, she called Andrew several times, insisting he seek “professional” help.
The worst part was when she called Sarah, the psychologist, trying to get her on her side. But Sarah surprised everyone. “Beverly, I understand your concern,” she said over the phone while Andrew listened on the other line.
“But I have to tell you, from a professional standpoint, I’ve seen significant improvements in Annie’s mental state since these sessions began.” “Improvements? What improvements?” “Annie is more engaged, more communicative.”
“She’s showing a desire to recover, which is the fundamental step in her rehabilitation. What this boy is doing might be unconventional, but it’s working in a way my methods weren’t.” Beverly hung up without a word, and Andrew breathed a sigh of relief.
Having a professional’s backing was huge. The sessions continued. Kyle had started keeping a small notebook, writing down what worked and what didn’t. He was methodical, despite his lack of formal schooling. He tried different music, different rhythms, different movements.
“Today we’re trying something new,” he said one Wednesday. “We’re adding breathing.” “Breathing?” Annie asked. “Breathing is movement. When you take a deep breath, your whole body moves. Your chest rises, your shoulders follow, even your stomach is involved.”
“If we can connect your breathing to your arm movements, your body will start to remember that everything is linked.” They spent the whole session just breathing and moving arms. Inhale, lift; exhale, lower. It seemed simple, almost silly, but Andrew noticed Annie was completely focused.
No distractions, just concentration. And then it happened. Near the end of the session, as Annie was breathing deeply and moving her arms, one of her feet twitched. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. Just a curl of the toes, but it was movement.
Kyle saw it first. His eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to startle her; he just kept the rhythm going, watching closely. It happened again. Annie’s right toes curled, then relaxed. This time, Annie noticed.
She looked down. Her eyes filled with tears. “I moved it,” she whispered. “You moved it,” Kyle confirmed with a massive grin. “Dad!” Annie yelled. “Dad, I moved my foot!”
Andrew ran into the room, Martha right behind him. Annie was crying, but they were happy tears. “I moved my foot, Dad! I felt it. It was just a little, but I felt it.” Andrew knelt by the chair. His own tears started to fall.
“That’s amazing, honey! Amazing!” “But we can’t rush it,” Kyle warned. “That was just the start. If we push too hard, it might backfire. We have to go slow, at her pace.” That night, the whole house celebrated.
Martha made Annie’s favorite lasagna. Andrew opened a bottle of wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, and even Beverly called to congratulate them, though she still had her reservations. But the happiest person of all was Kyle. Andrew invited him to dinner, and the boy shyly accepted.
It was the first time in a long time he’d had a real home-cooked meal, and Andrew’s heart ached seeing the hunger in the boy’s eyes. “Kyle,” Andrew said during dinner. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” “Yeah. There’s a spot under the pavilion at the park.”
“It stays dry there.” “How about staying in a real bed? We have a guest room. You can take a hot shower, get some clean clothes.” Kyle hesitated, looking like he didn’t think he deserved it. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother. On the contrary, you’re doing more for my daughter than anyone has in two years.” “It’s the least I can do.” Kyle agreed and, for the first time in three years, slept in a real bed. The next morning, when Andrew went to wake him, he found the room perfectly tidy.
Kyle was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed looking out the window. “Good morning,” Andrew said. “Morning, Mr. Walker. Sorry I’m up so early. I’m not used to sleeping in.” “No need to apologize.”
“Want some breakfast?” They ate together—pancakes and bacon—and for the first time, Andrew saw Annie truly laughing at the breakfast table. She and Kyle were chatting about music and their plans for the next session. “I’m bringing something special today,” Kyle said.
“A surprise.” “What kind of surprise?” Annie wanted to know. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.” That afternoon, Kyle showed up with a bag. Inside was a pair of ballet slippers, old and worn, but still in good shape.
“These were Daisy’s,” he explained. “She wore them before she stopped walking. I kept them even after she was adopted. I thought maybe they’d be useful someday.” Annie took the slippers with reverence.
Her fingers traced the frayed ribbons. “Do you think I’ll ever wear them again?” she asked, her voice a mix of hope and fear. “I think you can do anything you want,” Kyle replied. “You just have to believe it.” They spent the session talking about ballet.
Kyle asked Annie to describe her favorite moves, the performances she loved most. As she talked, he could see the passion returning to her eyes. “The dance never left you, Annie,” he said at the end. “It was just waiting for you to be ready to come back.”
But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The following week, Dr. Harrison, the family doctor and Beverly’s friend, showed up unannounced. He was a man in his sixties, gray-haired and always formal. “Andrew, we need to talk,” he said as soon as he arrived.
They sat in the study, and Dr. Harrison got straight to the point. “Beverly told me about this experiment you’re running with Annie.” “It’s not an experiment; it’s therapy.”
“Therapy conducted by a boy with no training or qualifications. Andrew, do you realize the risk?” “I realize the risk of my daughter wasting away in that chair with no hope. I realize that very well.”
“But building false hope can be even more damaging.” “It’s not false hope. She moved her foot, Jim. For the first time in two years, she had voluntary movement.” Dr. Harrison sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Psychogenic movement can be temporary.”
“There’s no guarantee it will continue or that there will be progress.” “And there’s no guarantee it won’t. Jim, with all due respect, you and every other doctor couldn’t help her. This boy did. I’m sticking with it.” “Then at least let me observe.”
“I want to be present for the next few sessions, see what’s being done. From a professional standpoint, I need to make sure there are no risks.” Andrew agreed, though he knew Kyle might feel uncomfortable. It was a fair compromise.
Dr. Harrison attended the next session with clinical focus. He watched every move, every word exchanged between Kyle and Annie. At the end, his expression was thoughtful. “Well,” he said after Kyle left. “I have to admit, there’s a method to what he’s doing.”
“It’s not scientific, but there’s a logic to it. He’s working on internal motivation—something we professionals sometimes overlook. So, we can keep going?” “Yes. But I’d like to add some supplemental exercises. Light physical therapy aimed at maintaining muscle tone.”
“If we combine his methods with proven techniques, the results might be even better.” So the routine changed. Kyle kept his sessions three times a week, but now twice a week, a professional physical therapist recommended by Dr. Harrison joined in.
Annie was tired from the schedule, but she was motivated. “I’m going to dance again,” she told herself every night. “I can do this.” Andrew saw the determination growing in his daughter and was proud, but also worried.
What if, after all this effort, it didn’t work?
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