Celeste refused.
By dinner, Arya asked again.
“He is a mechanic,” Celeste said.
“I know.”
“You have neurologists, physiatrists, physical therapists, engineers—”
“And they all said there’s nothing more to be done.”
Celeste went silent.
Arya hated herself for using the sentence.
She saw it hit her mother like a slap.
For two years, Celeste had fought that verdict harder than anyone.
She had slept in hospital chairs, learned medical terminology, rearranged board meetings around therapy schedules, flown across continents, and answered every setback with another specialist.
Her control had never been coldness.
It had been terror wearing expensive clothes.
Arya reached across the table.
“I’m not saying they failed me.”
Celeste stared at the untouched food on her plate.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I want to know what he saw.”
Three days later, Celeste called Rowan.
She did not invite him to their home.
She did not offer him money.
She asked him to meet Arya’s rehabilitation physician.
Rowan agreed.
The appointment was uncomfortable from the first minute.
Rowan arrived in clean work clothes, but there was still grease beneath two fingernails.
He sat across from specialists who had spent decades studying neurological injury and made no attempt to pretend he belonged among them.
Celeste expected him to describe some unconventional treatment.
He didn’t.
He described Arya’s movements.
The tightening of her right hand.
The elevation of her shoulders.
The premature unloading of the left side.
The way she interrupted an attempted movement before pain actually occurred.
Arya’s physician listened without expression.
Then she asked Arya to stand.
They repeated the sequence slowly.
Once.
Twice.
On the third attempt, the physician told Arya not to step.
She told her only to relax her grip and move her left foot toward a mark on the floor.
The shoe shifted.
Again, less than an inch.
The physician crouched.
“Interesting.”
Celeste leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what it means.
There is voluntary movement.
Very weak movement.
It does not mean her nerve damage is gone, and it does not mean she can safely walk unassisted.”
Rowan nodded.
Celeste looked almost angry.
“But you’ve seen voluntary movement before.”
“Yes.”
“Then why—”
The physician raised a hand.
