Jonathan stared at the muddy crutches, then at Oliver’s legs—still weak, still unsteady, but not trembling with fear.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” Jonathan said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Eli nodded. “That’s what grown-ups always say.”
Something about that made Jonathan pause.
“Where are your parents?” he asked.
Eli hesitated. “My mom works late. I stay with my grandma. Sometimes I walk.”
Jonathan followed his gaze—past the iron gates, beyond the manicured hedges, toward the poorer neighborhood down the road.
“How often do you walk this way?” Jonathan asked.
“Every day,” Eli said. “I like watching the big houses. They look like stories.”
Oliver smiled at him. “You’re my friend now.”
Eli smiled back, small but real. “Yeah.”
Jonathan felt something twist inside him.
