Standing
Miles gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white.
His entire body shook.
Lena stepped closer on instinct, still terrified, still unsure whether she was about to lose her job or collapse.
“Mister Miles,” she said, voice thin, “please don’t try to stand. You’ll fall.”
“Help me,” Miles said—and it sounded like a plea.
Lena hesitated, then moved to his side.
Owen stood on the other, small but steady, as if his presence mattered.
Miles pushed down with his arms.
His legs trembled, weak and uncertain, but they didn’t give out right away.
For the first time in two years, he felt them try.
He rose—slowly, shaking, every muscle screaming.
He stood.
Not for long.
Maybe three seconds.
Then his knees buckled and he fell into the grass, hitting hard enough to grunt.
But he didn’t care.
Because he was on the ground.
Because his knees felt the cool press of earth.
Because the smell of grass rose around him, sweet and overwhelming.
Miles grabbed Owen and pulled him into a tight, messy hug, burying his face in the boy’s hair like he was clinging to life itself.
He laughed and cried at the same time, loud and raw.
“I can feel it,” Miles said, voice breaking. “I can feel the grass.”
Lena dropped to her knees, shaking, tears streaming down her face as she whispered prayers she hadn’t planned to say aloud.
Owen hugged him back like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“I told you God can fix things,” the boy murmured softly.
Miles squeezed his eyes shut.
For the first time in a very long time, he didn’t feel like shouting at the sky.
He felt like thanking it.
