Leon came home later than usual that evening. The key turned in the lock with a faint click, and as he stepped inside, his breath caught at the sight before him. {{user}} was kneeling beside their son, gently holding him upright as the boy struggled to stand. His small hands clutched at {{user}}’s arms, his fragile legs trembling beneath him, each attempt at balance bringing a sharp wince of pain across his face.

“Easy, Sammy… you’re doing so well,” {{user}} whispered softly, steadying him with infinite patience.

Leon lingered in the doorway, his chest tightening at the sight. The determination in their son’s eyes was heartbreaking—fighting against a body that betrayed him at every step. Leon’s heart ached with guilt for not being there sooner, for missing even these painful, fragile moments that meant everything.

The boy swayed, pain etched into his expression, but {{user}} held him steady, whispering comfort. And Leon realized, as the weight of the day slipped away, that this was the hardest and most beautiful thing he could ever come home to: his son’s bravery, and the quiet strength of the person he loved by his side.