Chapter 10 - The Light Above
One year later.
The Texas summer air was thick and warm, smelling of honeysuckle and barbecue smoke. David stood on the back porch, flipping burgers on the grill, a cold beer in his hand.
Sarah walked out, carrying a tray of lemonade, and leaned against him.
"They're getting loud," she smiled, nodding toward the yard.
David looked out. In the center of the massive, sunlit lawn, Leo and Maya were running through the sprinklers. Leo was laughing—a loud, boisterous, completely normal laugh. He was ten years old now, tall for his age, with a healthy tan and a missing front tooth.
He still went to therapy twice a week. He still slept with a nightlight. But he was no longer the hollow, broken ghost they had pulled from beneath the floorboards.
Maya tackled her brother, and they both tumbled into the wet grass, shrieking with joy.
David set his tongs down and wrapped his arm around Sarah’s waist. He looked at the sky, vast and completely open. There were no ceilings here. No hidden spaces. Only light.
"Hey, Dad!" Leo yelled, waving a dripping wet arm. "Look how high I can jump!"
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"I see you, buddy," David called back, his voice thick with an emotion he would never fully be able to name. "I see you. You're doing great."
The boy leaped into the air, suspended for a moment in the pure, golden light of the afternoon, entirely free. And for the first time since that terrible Sunday in Coyoacán, David finally felt like he could breathe.
