Then Friday came.
I brewed tea, locked the door, and sat in front of my laptop. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear myself think. I opened the footage.
At first, it was nothing unusual. Just me, bending over him, tired and gentle. I fast-forwarded to the 90-minute window when I had stepped out for my doctor’s appointment.
Julian lay still.
And then—movement.
Not a twitch.
He raised his arm.
I gasped and leaned in, my hands covering my mouth.
He rubbed his eye. Turned his head. Sat up—slowly, awkwardly, like someone stiff from years of stillness.
Then he stood.
And he walked.
