Not the gentle, careful giggle Lily usually shared. This laughter was loud, unrestrained, bubbling over with joy. It echoed through the hallway, filling the space with a sound Daniel had never heard from his daughter before.
He stopped cold in the doorway of the playroom.
Maria lay flat on her back on the rug, arms extended toward the ceiling.
And in her hands was Lily.
Lily’s body was stretched outward like an airplane, her pink dress fluttering, her arms spread wide. Her face glowed with delight so pure it nearly took Daniel’s breath away.
“What are you doing?” he shouted.
Maria startled but reacted instantly, steadying Lily and lowering her gently to the floor. Lily laughed, completely unafraid.
“I’m sorry,” Maria said quickly. “She asked me to—”
“You could have hurt her,” Daniel snapped, his heart racing. “She’s not supposed to—she can’t—”
“She can,” Maria said quietly.
The room went still.
Daniel stared at her, disbelief turning sharp. “You don’t know that.”
Maria swallowed, her voice trembling but firm. “I do. Because she already has.”
Daniel shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
Maria knelt beside Lily. “Do you want to show Daddy what we practiced?”
Lily glanced up at her father, suddenly unsure. Her smile wavered.
Daniel’s chest tightened. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know,” Maria replied.
She placed Lily’s feet flat on the rug and held her hands. Not lifting. Not forcing. Just steadying.
Lily’s legs trembled.
Daniel stepped forward instinctively.
“Wait,” Maria whispered.
Lily concentrated, her small brow furrowed. Her fingers gripped Maria’s sleeves. Slowly, carefully, she shifted her weight.
One foot moved.
Then the other.
Daniel felt the room tilt.
Lily stood.
Not long. Not perfectly. Two seconds. Then three.
Then she wobbled and fell back into Maria’s arms, laughing in surprise.
Daniel dropped to his knees.
