But something in the boy’s eyes made it impossible to refuse.
“Okay,” Theodore whispered.
Sam closed his eyes and prayed with simple sincerity. “God, please help Mr. Hayes walk again. My mom says You do miracles. Please make him better. Amen.”
For the first time since the accident, Theodore felt something shift inside him. Not strength. Not movement. Just hope.
In the weeks that followed, he began spending more time in the garden while Maria worked. He watched Sam play, laugh, chase butterflies. That childlike joy stirred something long buried beneath years of board meetings and billion-dollar deals.
One morning, Theodore wheeled himself into the laundry room.
“I want you and Sam to move into the main house,” he said.
Maria nearly dropped the towel in her hands.
“You shouldn’t be living in that damp guest cottage. I have empty rooms. I… I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
They moved into the east wing that very afternoon.
Slowly, the house changed. Breakfasts were shared at the long mahogany table. Laughter replaced silence. Theodore hired a physical therapist, Mark Collins, and began grueling rehabilitation sessions at home.
Progress was slow. Painful. Frustrating.