There he was again—Jake, in our bedroom, standing on his own two feet.
He wasn’t moving perfectly, but he was clearly able to walk. He crossed the room, opened a drawer, grabbed a shirt, and turned back toward the bed. Then he did a small bounce on his heels, almost like he was testing his balance.
I felt sick.
I switched to other cameras.
At noon he was in the kitchen—walking.
At 1:15 he was in his office—walking.
At 2:40 a delivery arrived. Jake rolled to the front door in the wheelchair, signed for the package, rolled back inside… then stood up again and carried the box to the kitchen counter.
