Amanda blinked.
“You mean medically?”
“I mean anything,” Andrew said.
She thought about it.
“Dance without having to sit down.”
Andrew nodded.
“All right.”
It wasn’t a promise.
I appreciated that.
Amanda had received enough promises from frightened adults.
Treatment was slow.
There was no miraculous morning when she woke up cured.
But week by week, something changed.
She ate more.
Walked farther.
Stopped needing help every time she stood.
The first afternoon she made it to the end of the hospital corridor and back without sitting, Robin bought cupcakes for half the floor.
Andrew didn’t save her alone.
A team did that work.
A treatment finally gave her body something it could respond to.
But Andrew became important to her.
And she became important to him.
I noticed before Amanda did.
Then, one afternoon, Andrew stopped being part of her direct care.
Another doctor took over.
Amanda complained for three days.
