Days passed, and Alexander’s recovery accelerated. He could walk unaided, albeit with a slight limp, astounding all who had known him. The progress was both miraculous and inexplicable, leaving even medical experts questioning what had occurred.
Finally, Luke was located. The boy appeared in Alexander’s grand home, his red plastic stethoscope still draped around his neck, eyes bright with curiosity and mischief. Alexander extended a hand, this time in gratitude rather than mockery.
“You kept your word,” he said, voice filled with awe.
Luke grinned, unflinching. “And you owe me a million dollars,” he replied, playful yet confident.
Alexander laughed, a rich, unguarded sound that filled the mansion. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace. The chaos of the park, the echo of children’s laughter, the warmth of genuine human connection—all of it had returned to him through a child’s simple, unwavering touch.
In that moment, Alexander realized that miracles could arrive in the smallest forms. A boy’s faith, a hand extended, a promise kept—it was enough to restore not only his body, but his spirit. And for the first time in a long while, he embraced life anew, grateful for the strange, wonderful intervention that had changed everything.
