“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Daniel said evenly. “You’re going against medical orders.”
“I know,” Emily replied.
“Then explain.”
She glanced at the children. “Not in front of them.”
They spoke in the hallway.
Emily told him about her younger brother, paralyzed at eight after a spinal infection. About years without money for specialists. About an elderly neighbor—a retired physical therapist—who taught her techniques quietly, without credentials or contracts. About watching professionals give up too early.
“The braces matter,” she said. “But not every night. Their muscles are ready. They’re frustrated. They want to move. And they’re stronger than you think.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “You went behind my back.”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Because you would have said no.”
He dismissed her that night.
Security escorted Emily out the next morning. The children cried. Grace refused breakfast. Noah wouldn’t look at Daniel.
Two days later, Dr. Collins called.
“I reviewed the scans again,” he said. “There’s improvement. Small, but real. More than we’ve seen in months.”
Something twisted sharply in Daniel’s chest.
He called Emily.
No answer.