PART 2
PART 2
The girl didn’t answer right away.
Not because she didn’t hear him—but because the question didn’t make sense to her.
She looked at her shaking legs like they belonged to someone else.
“I tried,” she whispered. “They said I would never… so I stopped trying.”
The man’s jaw tightened.
His gaze shifted briefly to the woman holding the hose.
She still stood there, arms crossed, as if she were waiting for approval.
As if nothing had happened.
“That’s not medical care,” he said coldly. “That’s neglect.”
The woman scoffed. “You don’t understand. She’s difficult. She refuses therapy, refuses progress—”
The man stood up slowly.
And when he did, the air changed.
Not louder. Not dramatic.
Just heavier.
“I’ve read her file,” he said.
That made the woman hesitate.
“She has a spinal injury,” he continued. “Not a behavioral problem.”
The girl flinched at the word injury, like she still blamed herself for it.
The man softened again immediately, turning back to her.
“You’re not difficult,” he said gently. “You’re injured. There’s a difference.”
The girl swallowed hard.
“I thought I was broken.”
The words hit him harder than anything else.
He crouched again, closer this time.
“No,” he said. “You were never broken. You were just left in the wrong hands.”
Behind them, the woman shifted uncomfortably.
“You can’t just take her,” she said. “I’m her caretaker—”
The man didn’t look away from the girl.
“I’m her legal guardian,” he replied flatly.
Silence.
Even the street felt like it stopped moving.
The girl blinked.
“Legal…?” she echoed softly.
He nodded.
“I’ve been trying to find you for three years.”
Her lips parted slightly, like she was trying to understand a language she had never been taught.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“I never stopped.”
And for the first time, her grip on the wheelchair loosened.
May you like
Not because she was weak—
but because something inside her finally believed she didn’t have to hold herself together alone anymore.
