The first time he asked, it wasn’t spoken out loud. His fingers moved slowly across the keyboard, each letter taking effort, each word carrying more weight than most people would ever understand.
“Dad, can we run in that race?”
He was fifteen, living in a body that refused to cooperate the way he wanted it to. Cerebral palsy had shaped every part of his life—how he moved, how he spoke, how the world saw him. But his mind was sharp, his awareness even sharper. He understood limitations. He just refused to accept them as final.
