My mother’s arrival was like a jolt of light through my darkness. She showed me old videos of my childhood, memories of me falling, getting up, and laughing through tears. She reminded me that I had always been a fighter, even when I didn’t feel strong. Her quiet resilience, her belief in me, reignited something inside. I called Alex, my physical therapist, and promised to come back to rehab.

Every painful step, every tear, led me closer to myself again. With Sophie and my mother cheering me on, and Alex by my side, I rebuilt my strength day by day. When Sophie’s birthday came, I stood beside her—no wheelchair, no crutches, just me. Mark watched from the distance, but I didn’t need his approval anymore. I had found something stronger than betrayal: I had found myself.