But it was unmistakable.
Daniel’s throat closed.
For four years, he had chased miracles through appointments and expensive machines.
And here, in a simple metal basin under the sun, his daughter was making a movement no doctor had dared promise.
He sat back on his heels.
Marcus shifted awkwardly. “I can go if you’re mad.”
Daniel looked at him fully now.
He wasn’t reckless.
He was attentive.
He had noticed Lily’s frustration.
He had offered something gentle instead of something clinical.
“I’m not mad,” Daniel said, voice rougher than he expected. “I was afraid.”
Marcus nodded. “I figured.”
Lily splashed again, proud of herself.
“Daddy, I’m strong in water!”
Daniel let out a shaky laugh. “You are.”
He studied the scene: sunlight filtering through leaves, water catching reflections, gravel grounding the basin. It wasn’t dangerous chaos.
It was careful curiosity.
“How long has she been in there?” Daniel asked.
