“I’m sorry,” she said, pointing to her wheelchair. But what followed wasn’t pity—it was a choice. And that choice carried them both toward a future brighter than either had expected.

There she was — not delicate, not apologetic. Just human. Breathless. Trying.

She approached, words rushing ahead of her.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve texted. I lost track of time and—”

“Elena.”

She paused.

“Are you finished apologizing?”

“Probably not.”

“You don’t need to.”

He stood, moved a chair without ceremony, and gave her space like it was ordinary.

“You were with a kid,” he said.