Chapter: A Month Later
A month had passed since I was in the hospital. I had spent most of that time in a wheelchair because of the large cut on my leg. Apparently, nearly drowning and spending two weeks in a coma had given everyone permission to treat me like I was made of glass.
I hated it.
Every time I tried to do something, Ethan, Emy, or Rudy would appear out of nowhere to stop me. If I tried to get something from the kitchen, Emy would get it for me. If I wanted to go outside, Ethan insisted on helping me. If I even thought about standing up without help, Rudy would give me that look—the one that said he was about to tell on me.
I swear, that boy had become a full-time security guard.
"I can do it myself," I muttered one morning, reaching for a glass of water on the table.
Before my fingers could touch it, Emy picked it up and handed it to me.
"Here you go, sweetheart."
I stared at the glass, then at her.
"Emy, it was right in front of me."
"And now it's in your hand."
"That's not the point."
She smiled and walked away as if she'd won the argument. Across the room, Ethan chuckled while Rudy sat on the couch, typing something on his phone.
A second later, he turned the screen toward me.
At least you don't have to walk.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Keep laughing. See what happens when I get out of this wheelchair."
Rudy grinned.
I leaned back and sighed. A month ago, I'd been fighting for my life in the floodwaters of Ruidoso. I understood why everyone was worried, and I knew they were only trying to help. But being watched every second was driving me crazy.
I wasn't made of glass. I was still me.
And sooner or later, I was going to prove it.
One morning, I wheeled myself out to the front porch just to enjoy the fresh air. After spending nearly a month inside the house, I was starting to feel like the walls were closing in on me. The morning air was cool, and the smell of the grass and dirt after the previous night's dew reminded me of home. I leaned back in my wheelchair, closed my eyes, and listened to the birds singing in the trees. For once, nobody was telling me to sit down, take it easy, or stop trying to do everything myself.
A few minutes later, I heard a voice behind me. "Well, you're up early."
I turned my head and saw Ethan standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. He stepped outside and took a seat beside me, looking out over the yard.
"Couldn't sleep," I answered.
"Pain in your leg?"
"Not really. Just tired of staring at the same four walls every day."
Ethan chuckled. "Can't blame you for that."
I looked at him. "You know, I can take care of myself, right?"
"I know," he said, "but you can't always do things by yourself, you know"
"Ya, I get that," I said, then I stared out into the field. Then Ethan asked
"Do you remember when we first adopted you?" Ethan asked.
"I do. I was only four years old."
Ethan smiled faintly, taking another sip of his coffee. "You know, I still remember the first time we saw you at that adoption center in Texas."
I turned to look at him. "Really? I barely remember what happened that day."
"Well, you were a little kid," he said with a chuckle. "You weren't exactly the most talkative child, either."
I laughed quietly. "I didn't speak English back then."
"No, you didn't," Ethan replied. "You mostly spoke Spanish, and you had no idea what Emy and I were saying half the time. I remember Emy trying to talk to you, and you would just stare at her like she was speaking another language."
"Because she was!" I protested, making him laugh.
For a moment, we both sat there, enjoying the memory. It felt strange thinking about that little boy I had been back then. Four years old, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people he didn't know, trying to understand what was happening around him.
I remembered how confusing everything had been. I didn't understand why I was there or what was going to happen to me. I didn't know whether I would be staying with someone or whether I would have to leave again. All I knew was that my life had changed, and I had no control over what happened next.
And then Ethan and Emy came along.
"You were scared of us at first," Ethan continued. "I don't think you trusted us very much."
"I didn't know you," I replied. "How was I supposed to trust you?"
"Fair enough." He nodded, accepting my answer. "But you slowly started opening up to us. It took time, but eventually, you stopped looking at us like we were strangers."
I smiled a little. "I remember following Emy around the house everywhere she went."
"Oh, don't remind me," Ethan said, shaking his head with a grin. "That woman couldn't go anywhere without you following right behind her."
"She was nice to me."
"She still is."
"Yeah, but back then, I thought she was the nicest person in the world."
Ethan chuckled. "And what about me?"
I glanced at him. "You?"
"Yeah, me. I was there, too, you know."
I pretended to think about it. "You were all right, I guess."
"All right?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I adopted you, and that's all I get?"
I laughed. "What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Maybe something a little nicer?"
"Fine. You were a pretty good dad."
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "I'll take it."
The laughter faded, leaving us sitting quietly on the porch. I looked out over the field, watching the morning breeze move through the grass.
It was strange how certain memories stayed with you. I couldn't remember every detail of that day, but I remembered the feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar, not knowing what would happen next. Back then, I had been a little kid who didn't understand much about the world. I had needed someone to give me a chance, someone willing to be patient with me even when I couldn't understand what they were saying.
Ethan and Emy had done that for me.
And somewhere along the way, the strangers who had taken me into their home had become my family.
"Hey, Ethan?" I said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He turned toward me. "For what?"
I shrugged, suddenly unsure how to explain it. "For adopting me, I guess. For everything you and Emy have done for me."
Ethan set his coffee down beside his chair.
"Emmanuel, you don't have to thank us for that."
"I know, but I still want to."
He watched me for a moment before reaching over and resting a hand on my shoulder.
"Listen to me. When we adopted you, we weren't looking for someone who would owe us anything. We wanted a child we could love and raise as our own. That's what being a family means."
I lowered my eyes, letting his words sink in.
"And that hasn't changed," he continued. "Not when you were four, not now, and not after what happened here in Ruidoso. You don't have to prove anything to us. You don't have to pretend you're fine just because you don't like people worrying about you."
I swallowed and looked out at the field again.
"I'm just tired of everyone treating me like I'm helpless."
"I understand that," Ethan said. "But there's a difference between being helpless and needing a little help while you recover. You've always been stubborn. That hasn't changed since you were four."
"I'm not stubborn."
He gave me a look.
"Okay, maybe a little."
"A little?" He laughed. "You used to refuse to eat certain foods just because you didn't recognize them. Emy had to convince you to try almost everything."
"That's different."
"Of course it is."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
For the first time in a while, I didn't feel frustrated about my situation. I still hated being stuck in a wheelchair, and I still wanted to get back to doing things on my own. But sitting there with Ethan reminded me of something I'd forgotten.
I had spent so much time worrying about what I couldn't do that I'd forgotten how much I already had.
When I was four, I had needed someone to take my hand and help me understand a world I barely knew. Now, years later, I was still learning how to accept help, even when I didn't want it.
Maybe that was something I still needed to work on.
"So," Ethan said, picking up his coffee again, "what do you say we get you back on your feet when your leg is ready?"
I looked at him. "You mean it?"
"Of course. We'll take it one step at a time, and we'll listen to your doctors. No rushing things."
I smiled and turned back toward the field.
"One step at a time," I repeated. For once, I didn't mind the sound of that.