Her recovery was still unfolding. There were supports, appointments, adaptations, and goals that changed as her team learned what she needed.
That morning, she was focused on moving one foot.
She shifted her weight, concentrated, and took a careful step.
Then another.
I covered my mouth.
“Don’t cry yet,” she told me. “I’m trying to count.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Sorry. Keep going.”
When she finished, she leaned against the support and looked at me with exhausted pride.
“Were you watching?”
“The whole time.”
That evening, after dinner, Maya sat on the couch sorting markers
while I reviewed a short work report beside her.
My laptop chimed.
It was a calendar reminder for a payment that no longer existed.
For a moment, I saw myself on the hospital floor again: frightened, shaking, checking how long it would take to obey my mother.Motherhood support group
I deleted the reminder.
Then I closed the laptop.
Maya held up two markers.
“Purple sky or orange sky?”
“Your choice.”
She studied them with the seriousness the decision deserved.
“Both.”
I moved closer so she could spread the drawing between us.
