Chapter Sixteen: The Weight of Progress
Spring tiptoed in, the snow giving way to muddy patches that squelched under Lila's sneakers as she wheeled Syan outside for the first time in months. The air was cool, damp with the promise of rain, and carried the faint scent of thawing earth. Syan tilted his head, feeling the breeze brush his face—a small freedom he hadn't known he'd missed.
"Smells like mud," Lila said, her voice bright with a grin he could hear. "And maybe flowers, if you squint hard enough."
"Don't need to squint," he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll take your word for it."
Inside, progress had taken root. Mara, the physical therapist, came three times a week now, her gruff encouragement pushing Syan through exercises that left his muscles trembling. He could lift his arms a little higher each session, enough to graze Lila's hand when she sat beside him, a victory that made her cheer like he'd slain a dragon. The medications dulled the constant ache in his joints, though they blurred his thoughts at times, leaving him drifting in a haze.
His parents were part of it too, their presence steady if still tentative. His father had spent a weekend building a ramp for the wheelchair, muttering curses as he wrestled with warped wood and rusty nails. His mother brought fresh groceries—carrots, potatoes, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven—stocking the kitchen with more than they'd had in years. They didn't talk much about the past, didn't force apologies, just showed up, day after day.
"You're stubborn," Mara said one afternoon, wiping sweat from her brow as she guided Syan's arm through a stretch. "Good. Use it."
"Told you he's a dragon," Lila said from the corner, her pride a quiet fire.
Syan laughed, the sound stronger than it had been in months, though it still rasped in his throat. Progress was heavy, painful—each small gain a battle—but it was theirs, carved out through shaky lifts and the unspoken vow to keep going.