Chapter 13
Theo’s leg healed faster than his habits.
He hid crackers.
Saved coins.
Counted everything.
Asked how much X-rays cost.
Asked how much blankets cost.
Asked whether water was free.
I answered every time.
Then one afternoon he asked:
“How much do I cost?”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Gregory says kids cost a lot.”
I sat beside him.
“They do.”
He looked worried.
Honesty first.
“Food. Clothes. Doctors. School.”
His face tightened.
I continued.
“That is adults’ responsibility.”
“Why?”
“Because children cannot raise themselves.”
“I did some.”
My chest hurt.
“Yes.”
He had.
Too much.
“But you shouldn’t have had to.”
He stared at the recycling bin beside the clinic door.
“What if I want cans?”
That surprised me.
“Then collect cans.”
His face brightened.
“For money?”
“If you want.”
“Can keep?”
“Yes.”
He grinned.
Good.
The goal was not making cans forbidden because they belonged to trauma.
The goal was choice.
Theo began collecting bottles from the clinic because he liked counting deposits.
Clara made him a jar labeled by color stickers because his reading still lagged.
Soon he saved twenty-three dollars.
Then asked if he could buy a soccer ball.
I said yes.
He frowned.
“With mine.”
“Yes.”
His pride mattered.
Not because children should pay for needs.
Because choosing what to do with earned money is different from being told medicine depends on it.
He bought the ball.
Kept the change.
Then bought Clara a candy bar.
She cried.
Theo looked horrified.
“I did bad?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“Then why cry?”
“Because I’m dramatic.”
He laughed.
Good.
May you like
More normal moments.
Less history.
