The sleek black car pulled up in front of his grand bungalow in Vasant Vihar, New Delhi. He slipped quietly inside, determined to give Aarav a surprise. The living room was silent, but faint sounds of laughter floated down from upstairs. Oddly, it wasn’t Aarav’s usual giggle, but the voice of Asha, their maid-soft-spoken, humble, and almost invisible to Rajat until now.

He tiptoed upstairs, heart pounding. Aarav’s door was ajar. Through the small gap, Rajat’s eyes widened at the sight before him: Asha was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, gently supporting Aarav’s frail body, guiding him to his feet. The boy’s face dripped with sweat, yet determination gleamed in his eyes. His tiny legs shook with every step, but he pushed forward as Asha supported him warmly:

“Come on, beta… one more step. Yes, that’s it! Wonderful, Aarav!”

Rajat froze in disbelief. For years, he had poured money into top specialists in Gurugram and Mumbai, but Aarav had made little progress. And now, before his very eyes, this modest woman was helping his son take steps again. Joy, astonishment, and even guilt swirled inside him-guilt for never having spent patient hours like this with his own child.

After standing there silently, Rajat finally entered.