I can heal your eyes, sir. The words dropped into the still air like a pebble into deep water soft, almost fragile. The blind man was stunned by what happened next…

It wasn’t a miracle. But something inside him softened. The rain faded.

The sounds dulled. And he felt something not quite warmth. But presence.

An awareness he hadn’t felt in years. As if his body remembered being whole. When he opened his eyes sooseless though they were he was crying.

I didn’t see anything, he whispered. But I felt, I don’t know, peace. That’s a start, Jada said.

He squeezed her hand. Thank you. She stood.

I have to go. Your wife is watching today. Ah.

Thomas turned his head instinctively. How do you know? I can feel her, Jada said. Her light flickers when I’m near.

It gets cold. Then she slipped away. Thomas sat in silence.

The rain tapping softly on his shoulders. The stone in his pocket growing warm in his hand. Judith returned moments later.

Voice tight. You’re soaked. Why didn’t you call me? He didn’t answer.

She sighed, wrapping the blanket around him. You’ll catch pneumonia out here. Uh.

He leaned into her arms with practiced stillness but said gently. Judith. Why don’t you ever sit with me anymore? She paused.

Just long enough for him to notice. I want you to have your quiet, she said quickly. You need space to think.

He nodded slowly. But the thought had already planted itself. Not just a seed of doubt but of knowing.

And the girl who had placed it there? She carried more light than anyone he’d ever known. Thomas Grant had never thought much about how he walked. For most of his life, it had been automatic on foot.

Then the other. Propelled by certainty and purpose. But since losing his sight, each step was deliberate.

Cautious. Measured like a man counting the edge of his own fading dignity. That morning, however, he felt different.

There was something in his chest. A thrum. A quiet sense of forwardness.

He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the conversation with Jada the day before. Or the moment when he felt something move within him like dust shaken loose from a forgotten lightbulb.

Whatever it was, he woke up determined not to sit on that bench all morning. He wanted to walk. To feel the world again.

Judith was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to the park. He could tell she was watching him in the rearview mirror. But she didn’t say much.

No talk of meetings. No affectionate banter. Only silence.

Measured and thin. Like a thread about to snap. At the park, she helped him from the car, adjusted his coat collar, and placed his cane in his hand.

Same bench? She asked. No, he said. I’d like to walk a little today.

She hesitated. It’s still damp. You sure? I am.

He felt her fingers press briefly against his shoulder, then slip away. Don’t go far. I’ll be over by the hedge.

He nodded, and took his first step. The walkway was slightly uneven. Stones shifted from years of root growth beneath.

Thomas moved slowly, feeling out each patch of ground with the tip of his cane. His ears tracked every noise, the soft flutter of pigeons, the wind brushing through tree branches, and somewhere, faint and far, the voice of a young girl singing under her breath. He turned slightly in that direction, just enough to listen.

But the sudden cry of a toddler nearby startled him, and he lost his footing. One wrong step, his cane hit a shallow dip between the stones, and his balance shifted violently. His foot slid out.

His body tilted sideways. And then impact. Pain exploded in his wrist as he hit the ground hard, his hip slammed into the edge of a concrete step, breath knocked from his lungs.

He tasted blood. A sharp gasp escaped him, and he lay there, frozen by the sting, by the shame, by the brutal reminder that no matter what light he might be discovering within, his body was still fragile, still blind, still breakable. Mr. Grant.

The voice rang clear, high, and urgent. Small hands touched his back gently, then his arm. Don’t move yet, Jada said, her breath close to his ear.

I saw you fall. I was coming to find you. I’m fine, he muttered.

No, you’re not, she said with calm insistence. Your hand’s bleeding. Your wrist looks swollen.

Just help me sit up. She did, carefully, slowly, as if she’d done it before for others, maybe for herself. He leaned back against the cold base of the park’s old war monument, breath shallow, pain burning up his side.

I didn’t see the drop, he said, bitter. Stupid mistake. You didn’t see anything, she said.

That’s not stupid. That’s just real. He gave a dry chuckle.

You’re too honest for your age, and you’re too proud for yours. The words hit him harder than the fall. She pressed a folded cloth guest her sleeve against his bleeding palm.

We need to get this cleaned. You might need stitches. I can call someone.

No time, she said quickly. She’s coming. He turned his head.

Judith? I heard her voice. She’s looking for you. Sure enough.

Within seconds, Judith’s heels clacked fast and sharp across the stone path. Thomas? Oh my God, what happened? Jada vanished swift as shadow behind a bench. Thomas sat up straighter, pain flaring.

I tripped, he said. Misjudge the edge. Judith was instantly at his side.

You shouldn’t have walked alone. I told you this path isn’t safe. I needed to move, he said calmly.

We’re going home, she said. Now, this is too much. I should have hired someone.

He bit back a reply. As she helped him to his feet, he gritted his teeth, bracing against the sharp pain in his hip. He leaned heavily on the cane.

I’ll call Dr. Sandler. We’ll stop by his clinic. No, Thomas said.

Take me to the house. She hesitated. But you… I said house.

Her silence said more than words. She led him back to the car, this time with firmer hands. Her tone clipped.

In the back seat, Thomas held the blood-streaked cloth in his palm and stared blindly ahead. He knew Judith would use this moment. As evidence.

As proof. Another step in her plan to portray him as incapable, frail, unfit to oversee anything. Not his company.

Not his fortune. Maybe not even himself. But something had shifted again.

Not broken, just bent. Like a bone realigning. Back at home, while Judith busied herself on the phone likely whispering to a lawyer or a Dr. Thomas sat alone in his study.

He opened the drawer of his old oak desk and found what he hadn’t touched in over a year. A recorder. He pressed the button and spoke softly into the mic.

This is Thomas Grant. If anything happens to Maeve, I am declared mentally or physically unfit. I want this on record.

I have not lost my mind. I may have lost my sight. But I have not lost my will.

He paused. And I am not alone. There is a girl named Jada.

She’s not a hallucination. She’s more real than anyone else in my life right now. Oh.

He clicked it off and placed it in the drawer. Then, reaching into his coat, he pulled out the stone she had given him. He held it tightly in his bruised hand, letting its shape anchor him.

The fall had hurt. But it had also taught him something vital. The only thing worse than falling, was refusing to get up.

The rain had stopped by morning. Leaving behind that peculiar scent of damp earth and moss that reminded Thomas Grant of his childhood of early mornings on his grandfather’s farm in Kentucky, where the world felt wide and slow and trustworthy. That memory, distant and fragrant, was a strange comfort as he sat alone in his study, the bruises on his hip pulsing faintly and the cut on his palm now bandaged but still sore.

Judith had left early. She said there was an emergency board meeting. No mention of the fall.

No gentle goodbye. Just the sound of her heels and the front door closing with a soft click that felt colder than the rain had. He had replayed her conversation on the phone last night her voice, low, clipped, speaking to someone named Carl.

Yes, the fall helped. No, he’s not resisting. Yet.

Just give me two more weeks. Two more weeks. It echoed in his skull like a countdown to erasure.

She was preparing her move. And so was he. He dressed himself.

Carefully. A task he hadn’t done entirely alone since the accident. It took twice as long.

And he winced at every tug near his ribs. But he did it. The shoes were mismatched.

He could feel the subtle difference in the soul’s butt that didn’t matter. He needed only one thing this morning. To meet Jada again.

When the driver pulled up out front, Thomas used his cane to feel his way down the stairs. The driver, a young man named Miguel, jumped out to assist. But Thomas held up a hand.

I’ve got it, he said. Miguel hesitated. Sir, are you sure? Positive.

Just take me to Central Heights Park. West entrance. Thomas arrived 20 minutes early.

It was quiet, the city still rubbing the sleep from its eyes. He settled onto the bench carefully, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his face. No Judith.

No Jada. Just space to breathe. He waited.

And then quiet footsteps on damp stone. You’re early, she said. So are you.

I don’t sleep much, Jada replied. He smiled. I didn’t sleep at all.

She sat beside him, and he could feel her presence like a shift in the air. I heard about the fall, she said softly. You saw it.

Yes. He turned his head toward her. Why didn’t you stay? She scares me, Jada whispered.

Your wife. Her light is. Angry.

Sharp. He nodded. She’s trying to take everything.

The company. My name. Maybe even what’s left of me.

Then we have to stop her. He smiled grimly. You make that sound simple.

It is, she said. But not easy. She paused, then reached into her pocket.

I brought something. He heard the faint jingle of metal, then felt her place something into his hand. A necklace.

The chain thin and light, but the pendant at the end was heavy. Circular. Smooth edges.

He ran his fingers over it letters carved deep. What is it? A St. Lucie’s medal, she said. She’s the patron saint of the blind.

It used to belong to my grandmother. She said it helped her find her way. Thomas held it tight.

Jada. Why are you helping me? She was quiet for a long time. Because people like her always win, she said finally.

They lie. They smile. They take.

And people like you. You stay quiet. You disappear.

But not this time. Thomas blinked back the emotion threatening to rise. You’re just a child.

And you’re just a man, she said. We’re both more than they think we are. He chuckled softly.

You ever think you’re too wise for your own good? Every day. She stood suddenly. I need to go.

There’s someone I want you to meet. Tomorrow. He raised an eyebrow.

Who? A friend. He knows things. People don’t believe him either…