Emma
The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and baby powder. I sat there with my hands folded tightly in my lap, watching Alex finish his last stretches with the therapist. His laughter echoed faintly from inside the room, a sound that always softened my heart.
He limped out, sweaty but smiling.
“Mom, I lifted my back higher today!” he announced, lifting both arms proudly.
I bent to meet him. “I saw, bunny. You’re doing amazing.”
He grinned and hugged me, his little fingers digging into my shirt. For a moment, all the fear and stress faded, replaced by pure warmth.
Then the receptionist called my name.
“Miss Emma, your balance for the next therapy block is due by Monday.”
My heart dropped. “Thank you,” I whispered, even though my voice came out thin. She handed me the invoice, an
