My father smiled, the kind of proud smile that always made me feel like I could take on anything. "That’s my girl," he said warmly. "Now, it seems to me you’ve had a very long day. Why don’t you go get some rest? You’ve got therapy in the morning, right?"
"That’s right," I confirmed. "My occupational therapy appointment. I’m still not used to going every week. I almost forgot."
"Well, don’t forget," he said with a chuckle. "You’re making progress, and that’s what matters."
I smiled, feeling a small flicker of pride at his words. "Thanks, Dad.”
The next day at my therapy appointment, my good mood persisted. Things went well, even though my usual therapist was out and a substitute was helping me.
She was a young, pretty woman with light brown hair and a kind
