“Then explain.”
She glanced at the children. “Not here.”
They spoke in the hallway.
Lena told him about her younger brother, paralyzed at nine after a spinal infection. About years without access to specialists. About an elderly neighbor—a retired physical therapist—who taught her techniques quietly, unofficially. About watching doctors decide too soon that progress was impossible.
“The braces matter,” she said. “Just not every night. Their muscles are ready. They’re restless. They’re stronger than anyone believes.”
Michael stared at her. “You went behind my back.”
“Yes,” she said evenly. “Because you would’ve said no.”
He dismissed her immediately.
Security escorted Lena out the next morning. The children cried. Ava refused to eat. Eli wouldn’t meet Michael’s eyes.
Two days later, Dr. Reed called.
“I rechecked the scans,” he said. “There’s improvement. Small, but undeniable. More than we’ve seen in months.”
Something tightened painfully in Michael’s chest.
He called Lena.
No answer.
He drove to the address listed in her file—a modest apartment in Palo Alto. Lena opened the door, cautious, guarded.
“I want you back,” Michael said. “With oversight. Proper pay. Doctors involved.”
Lena shook her head. “That’s not how I work.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“To be trusted,” she said. “Or nothing.”
Michael had built his life by controlling every variable.
This one refused to bend.
For the first time in years, Michael compromised.
He proposed a trial. Lena would return—not as domestic staff, but as a rehabilitation aide in training. Dr. Reed would observe discreetly. No hidden cameras. Complete transparency.
Lena agreed on one condition: the children would know the truth. No secrecy. No pretending their progress came from anything other than effort.
Therapy moved to daytime.
Lena worked beside licensed professionals, challenging them when routines turned rigid. She adjusted exercises on the fly. She pushed when the children wanted to quit—and stopped when strain became dangerous. The doctors resisted at first. Then they began taking notes.
Three months later, Owen lifted his leg six inches off the mat.
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