Chapter 16
Theo started school properly.
Hard at first.
He hated being behind.
Called himself stupid once.
I stopped him.
“Who said that?”
“Kids know more.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He looked away.
“Gregory.”
Of course.
If Theo struggled to read, Gregory called him lazy.
If he forgot something, stupid.
If he cried, weak.
Three words.
Efficient cages.
I brought in a tutor.
Theo hated her for three days.
Then discovered she liked soccer.
Problem solved.
His reading improved.
His leg healed.
His appetite became less guarded.
Not gone.
Better.
One afternoon he left half a sandwich on his plate.
Then walked away.
I noticed.
So did Clara.
Neither of us said anything.
Ten minutes later he returned.
The sandwich was still there.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
“You didn’t take.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s yours.”
Simple.
He ate one bite and left again.
That tiny experiment told me more than any therapist—no, any observer—could.
He was testing whether abundance remained when he stopped guarding it.
It did.
Every day.
That was how safety became believable.
May you like
Not through promises.
Repetition.
