Chapter 6 - One Step at a Time
Three weeks later, Noah returned home.
The wheelchair returned too.
But it was no longer a prison.
It was a tool.
Some mornings Noah walked twenty steps.
Some mornings he managed five.
Sometimes his legs hurt from genuine weakness.
Sometimes he became frustrated.
And sometimes he threw his therapy cushion across the room.
“I hate this!”
I picked it up.
“You have excellent aim.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He crossed his arms.
“I walked yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Why can’t I walk today?”
“Because recovery isn’t a straight line.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Extremely.”
He stared at me.
Then laughed.
From the doorway came another voice.
“Are you teaching my son to swear at physical rehabilitation?”
Ethan leaned against the frame.
His black shirt was rolled to the elbows, tattoos visible.
Noah pointed at me.
“She started it.”
“Traitor,” I said.
Ethan almost smiled.
The estate had changed.
Victor was awaiting trial.
Pierce had agreed to cooperate with prosecutors.
Margaret remained at the house, but no longer controlled medical decisions.
Every medication was now independently verified.
Every doctor was reviewed.
And Noah had an entire rehabilitation team.
But Ethan still watched me during every session.
One afternoon, after Noah finished therapy, Ethan followed me into the hallway.
“You’re still angry with me,” he said.
I stopped.
“About what?”
“Firing you.”
“You rehired me approximately ninety seconds later.”
“Eighty-four.”
I stared at him.
“You timed it?”
“I remember things.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
He smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I should have listened sooner.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I’m his father. I should have known.”
I shook my head.
“Victor built the lie around people you trusted.”
“I trusted the wrong people.”
“You also trusted me.”
“Eventually.”
“After threatening to fire me.”
“I never threatened you.”
“You literally said, ‘Then you’re fired.’”
“That was a statement.”
I laughed despite myself.
Ethan watched me.
Something had changed between us since the garden.
I knew it.
He knew it.
Neither of us mentioned it.
Then Noah shouted from the therapy room.
“COME HERE!”
We ran back.
He stood beside his walker.
“What happened?” Ethan asked.
Noah grinned.
“I want to show you.”
He released one hand.
Then the other.
My breath caught.
“Noah, wait—”
He stood independently.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
His knees trembled.
Ethan crouched several feet away.
“Come here, buddy.”
Noah looked terrified.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“What if I fall?”
Ethan held out his arms.
“Then I catch you.”
Noah looked at me.
I nodded.
“One step.”
He moved his foot.
Then another.
Then another.
On the fourth step, his knee buckled.
Ethan caught him.
Noah burst into laughter.
“I did it!”
Ethan hugged him.
“Yes.”
Noah wrapped both arms around his father’s neck.
“I walked to you.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
I turned away to give them privacy.
“Wait.”
I looked back.
Ethan was staring at me over Noah’s shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“Giving you two a minute.”
Noah shook his head.
“No.”
He reached toward me.
“You helped.”
I walked back.
Noah grabbed my hand.
Then his father’s.
For several seconds, the three of us simply stood there.
Then Noah looked between us.
“Are you still my nanny?”
I smiled.
“If your father doesn’t fire me again.”
Ethan looked at me.
“I’m beginning to regret ever saying that.”
“You should.”
Noah grinned.
“Dad likes you.”
Ethan froze.
I blinked.
“Noah.”
“What?”
Ethan cleared his throat.
“Therapy.”
“We finished.”
“Then finish again.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Neither does throwing cushions.”
Noah pointed accusingly at me.
“She said my aim was excellent.”
I laughed.
Ethan finally did too.
And for the first time since I entered the Caldwell estate, the mansion didn’t feel like a fortress.
May you like
It felt like a home.
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