Chapter Thirteen: The Test of Trust
The days stretched into a tentative routine, each one a small test of his parents' promises. The wheelchair became a fixture, its squeaky wheels a familiar sound as Lila pushed Syan around the cramped house. His father returned with tools the next morning, oiling the axles until the chair glided smoothly, a quiet pride in his gruff "there, that's better." His mother brought more soup, then a loaf of bread she'd baked—crusty, warm, a far cry from the stale scraps they'd lived on before. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress, and Syan felt the edges of his guarded heart soften, just a little.
Dr. Ellis came back midweek, her bag heavier this time with equipment for tests. She drew blood, checked his lungs with a cold stethoscope, and asked more questions—about numbness, about sleep, about pain he'd stopped mentioning years ago. Lila sat close, her hand on his arm, filling in gaps when his memory faltered. "He coughs more when it's cold," she said, her voice firm. "And his hands shake sometimes."
"Noticed that," Dr. Ellis said, scribbling notes. "We'll get the results soon. In the meantime, I've got a referral lined up—a neurologist in the city. Your parents are arranging transport."
Syan's stomach twisted. A neurologist. The city. Words that had once been distant dreams, now inching closer to reality. "They're serious about this," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
"They better be," Lila muttered, but there was a flicker of hope in her tone, buried under her usual steel.
That evening, his parents lingered longer than usual. His father sat in the old armchair, hands clasped, while his mother fussed with a stack of blankets she'd brought. "The neurologist's appointment is next week," she said, her voice tight with nerves. "We'll drive you both. It's a few hours, but we've got a van now—room for the chair."
Lila crossed her arms, eyeing them. "And after that? What happens if they can't fix him?"
"We don't expect miracles," his father said, meeting her challenge head-on. "But we'll keep going—whatever he needs. We're not walking away again."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. "Okay," she said finally. "We'll see."
When they left, Lila sank onto the bed beside Syan, her silence heavy. "I want to believe them," she said at last, her voice small. "But I keep waiting for the catch."
"Me too," he admitted. "Let's just take it as it comes."
She nodded, leaning against him, and they sat there, the wheelchair a silent witness to the trust they were testing—one careful step at a time.